
Class _TS„3_LLL_ 

Book.A^ t^L 

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CQBfRICIfr DEPOSIT. 





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BY 



RUPERT HUGHE 



uyjj 



THE CAT-BIRD 






BY 

RUPERT HUGHES 

30 East 38th Street, 
NEW YORK CITY 



Copyright i4is by Rupert Hughes 



All Rights Reserved 



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M 17 1920 



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^ CHARACTERS 

-? 

^ Martin Gloade A Scientist 

(^ James Brearley A Business Man 

r^ Tom Forshay An Ardent Lover 

^^ Roy Murison A Clever Lover 

~i^ Arthur Newlin A Tenor 

^ Ronald A Very Young Youth 

Parker An Old Servant 

Mullins A Hotel Detective 

Mrs. Fay Crosby A Premature Widow 

CoRALiE Tippet A Pretty Thing 

Fanita Angevine A Slightly Tarnished Flower 

IN ACT H. A few hotel guests, perhaps; mainly 
" couples. 



CHARACTERS REFERRED TO BUT NOT 

CAST 

Claude a spider 

Emma a female spider 

Egbert a rattlesnake 

Phoebe a female rattlesnake 

Romeo a scorpion 

Orlando a June-bug 



SCENES. 



ACT L 

THE PROFESSOR'S VIVARIUM. That Aft- 
ernoon. 

ACT II. 
THE HOTEL. That Evening. 

ACT III. 

THE SAME AS ACT I. That Night. 

3 



THE CAT-BIRD 



ACT I. 



Scene: — The Professor's Vivarium. The front 
of the stage is occupied by a pergola porch 
with columiis between which one looks into 
a garden. The pergola is furnished with a 
few chairs, and several cases on pedestals. 
One of these with a wire net across the top 
is supposed to contain a pair of rattle- 
snakes, and a mechanical spring making a 
loud whirr should be ready on cue. An- 
other smaller case similarly fitted with a 
wire net top is supposed to contain scorpi- 
ons. The garden contains shrubs with 
birds nests, a terra^cotta bird bath, and a 
circular fountain. The back cloth shows a 
high wall and beyond it tree tops against 
a summer sky. Between the columns to 
the Left, a large spider web is swung with 
a smaller one near it. On these webs a 
large and a small spider brilliantly marked 
should be movable. 

Rise: — At rise the stage is empty, sunlight 
floods the garden, the fountain plashes, 
birds sing, bees hum, butterflies flutter. 
The smaller spider approaches the larger 
slowly; then darts away pursued by 
the larger who goes back slowly to her post. 
Birds hover about a nest in one of the trees. 
A girl's cry of fright is heard off h. It is 
5 



6 THE CAT-BIRD 

not loud but it indicates terror. A moment 
later, Coralie Tippet, brightly dressed 
and very pretty, runs in L. U. E. pursued by 
Tom Forshay, tall, handsome, and des- 
perate — a gentleman but in an amorous 
frenzy. 

Coralie dodges behind a shrub, is chased 
out; pauses by the fountain; is driven 
round and round it. She stops breathless, 

Coralie. If you touch me, Fll shriek ! 

Tom. {Seizing her) Shriek away. {He 
smothers her in his arms and tries to kiss her.) 

Coralie. {Struggling) Don't, don't! {She 
wriggles out of his arms and runs to the 
columns, peers in.) 

Tom. You wouldn't dare go into a strange 
house. 

Coralie. I'd go anywhere to get away from 
you. 

Tom. And I'll go anywhere to get you. 

{He steps forward, she steps in, sees no one 
about. They run around the columns to the 
R. He grasps her and tears her gown at 
the shoulder. She screams. They knock 
over a case, a loud metallic whirring is 
heard.) 

(Parker, an old servant, runs in R.) 

Parker. What on earth ! 

Tom. Get out of here. 

Parker. Get out yourself. You'll disturb 
Professor Gloade with your antics. 

Coralie. Antics ! I want your protection. 

Tom. {Pursuing her around him) Go on 
about your business. 

{He throws the old man aside R. as Mr. 
Brearley enters and bumps into him.) 



THE CAT-BIRD 7 

Brearley. Parker ! My pet toe ! 

Parker. Oh, Mr. Brearley, very sorry, sir, 
but this gentleman is trying to murder this 
young lady or something. 

Brearley. Sir, how dare you commit mur- 
der on private premises ? 

Tom. (Truculeyitly) I don't want to hurt 
an old man, but 

Brearley. {Backing away and calling) Oh, 
Gloade! Gloade! 

Gloade. {Off R.) Well, what is it? (He 
comes on R. He carries a large glass bottle con- 
taining a pair of tarantulas.) 

Brearley. This person is insane or some- 
thing. 

Gloade. Insane! How interesting! What's 
your particular malady? 

Tom. (Ignoring him) Will you come with 
me 

CoRALiE. No ! Never ! 

Tom. Oh, yes, you will. (Seizes her hand.) 

CoRALiE. (To Gloade) Help me! Save 
me! 

Gloade. Certainly. If you'll hold this 

(Offering Brearley the jar.) 

Brearley. What is it? 
Gloade. Just tarantulas. 
Tom. Come away from here, Coralie. 
CORALIE. I won't. 
Tom. You will ! 

Gloade. Young man, this isn't Belgium, you 
know. You behave or I'll chloroform you. 

(Takes a phial from his pocket) Who are you 
anyway ? 

Tom. That's my business. 
Gloade. Please go and attend to it. (To 
Coralie) And you. Do I know you ? 



8 THE CAT-BIRD 

CORALIE. "No. I 1 took refuge here from 

this man. 

Mr. Brearley. The poor child ! That brute 
ought to be lynched. 

Gloade. I agree with you, he's knocked over 
Egbert and Phoebe. 

(Parker comes in ivith a large knife) 

Tom. Who are Egbert and Phoebe? 

Gloade. A pair of very nice rattlesnakes. 

Tom. {Startled) Rattlesnakes! 

Gloade. Yes, and one of them might have 
taken a nip. Good job, too! Disturbing their 
tete-a-tete! Parker, put down that knife and 
lend a hand will you? (He starts to lift the box, 
there is a fierce ivhirr from within.) 

Tom. (Staring in) Good Lord! (He falls 
hack against another case, it topples, he saves 
it.) 

Gloade. Watch out for Romeo and Juliet. 

Tom. Who are they? 

Gloade. Scorpions; and very much in love. 

Tom. (Backing off) Good Lord, let's get 
out of here. 

Coralie. I'd rather stay with the most 
vicious beasts. 

Gloade. (Gets the box on the stand and 
speaks to the denizens) I beg a thousand par- 
dons. (To Tom) How did you get in here, 
anyway? 

Tom. I followed Miss 1 followed her 

Brearley. Outrageous ! 

Gloade. (To Coralie) And how did you 
get in here? 

Coralie. It looked pretty. I just stepped 
in. 

Gloade. Did you just step in with this 
young — business man — or did he follow after? 



THE CAT-BIRD » 

CORALIE. Yes. 

Gloade. Yes? 

CORALIE. He came with me. 

Gloade. It was after you got in here that he 
went mad ? 

CORALIE. Well, he was very annoying 
before. 

Brearley. Lynching is too good for him. 

Gloade. (To Coralie) He annoyed you so 
that you stepped into a strange garden to escape 
him? 

Coralie. (A little shaken) If you want to 
put it that way, I suppose I did. 

Gloade. How long have you known him ? 

Coralie. Oh, a long time. 

Gloade. Ah. 

Coralie. (Taking refuge in anger) Why 
do you question me so ? How dare you question 
me so? 

Brearley. You astound me, Martin ! 

Tom. (Hotly) Are you trying to imply 
something to her discredit ? 

Gloade. Oh, now you are protecting her ! 
(To Coralie) Do you prefer his — attentions — 
or mine? 

Coralie. His ! 

Gloade. (Mockingly oracular) How like 
humanity to prefer any danger rather than face 
the truth. If you want to cause a stampede 
among people just threaten to disclose the truth. 

Brearley. What on earth is the matter 
with you ? 

Gloade. Pardon me. These are the first 
two young human specimens that I have caught 
in my laboratory at this season of the year. 
How like ! How like ! 

Brearley. Like what? 

Gloade. How like they are to these butter- 



10 THE CAT-BIRD 

flies, these roses, these amorous scorpions, all, 
all alike in their infinite differences. 

Tom. (To Coralie) This is a sanitarium. 
Come on out! 

Coralie. Not with you. 

Tom. Vm sorry. I apologize. Come along. 

Coralie. Not in that sunny street with you 
and my frock torn. I'll not be seen with you. 

Tom. Please forgive me. 

Coralie. How can I ever trust you again? 

Tom. I swear I'll be good. 

Coralie. (Relenting) Come around this 
evening and make your apologies. 

Tom. All right. (He goes out L. u. E. 
Coralie stands staring after him.) 

Gloade. (To Brearley) She will not be 
seen on the street with him, but she will be un- 
seen on the porch with him. 

Brearley. Do you mean to imply that she is 
a bad girl ? 

Gloade. Heavens no; she's a little dear — 
but she's human and it is June. 

Brearley. I'm amazed at the way you 
treated her. She must abhor you. 

Gloade. Perhaps. One never knows. 

(Coralie turns back ivith a sigh) 

Brearley. Miss Tippet, I know your aunt — 
if I can ever be of any further help to you 

Coralie. (Indifferently) Thank you so 
much! (She passes him and goes to Gloade) 
Why did you talk to me in such a funny way? 

Gloade. I paid you the greatest compliment 
in my power. 

Coralie. You are Professor Gloade, aren't 
you? (He nods with a deprecatory gesture) 
Very famous in — oh a lot of 'ologies — whose 
names even — I don't know. 



THE CAT-BIRD 11 

Gloade. But you have so many 'ologies that 
I don't know. 

CORALIE. Oh, Tm ever so ignorant. But I — 
you mustn't misjudge poor Tom. 

Brearley. (Aghast) Poor Tom! He ought 
to be shot. 

Coralie. Oh no, I suppose I was partly to 
blame. 

Gloade. (Suddenly overjoyed) Do you 
realize that? 

Coralie. (Bewildered by his excitement) 
What? 

Gloade. I thought so, but I was afraid to be 
sure. 

Coralie. Sure of what? 

Gloade. When I found you here I couldn't 
tell whether you were very clever or very 
naughty. 

Brearley. Naughty for running away from 
a brute? 

Gloade. (To Coralie) Ah, but running 
away is part of the game, isn't it? 

Coralie. Why, Professor! 

Gloade. I don't know yet whether you ought 
to be profoundly revered or — spanked ! 

Coralie. Why either punishment? 

Gloade. You are either carrying forward 
the torch of life or you are playing with a sacred 
fire. And when a woman plays with fire, there's 
no telling whether she will burn herself up or 
the world. 

Coralie. What do you know about women? 

Gloade. (With a sigh) Nothing. I am 
only in the primer studying flowers, insects, 
fish, birds and baboons. I haven't got up to 
women yet. 

Coralie. People in the village say you never 



12 THE CAT-BIRD 

go out. How can you expect to know people if 
you never go out into society? 

Gloade. Oh, I get lots of society — ^here — 
with my children. 

CORALIE. Children — ugh ! 

Gloade. Do you ever read anything? 

CORALIE. Nothing that you would call any- 
thing — novels — You don't read love stories, of 
course. 

Gloade. I read little else. 

CORALIE. Really! What are you reading 
now? 

Gloade. A learned work on the courtships 
of short-horned grasshoppers. 

Coralie. Horrors ! Grasshoppers. 

Gloade. Oh, they are very romantic. 

Coralie. But I mean human interest. Did 
you ever have a love affair of your own ? 

Gloade. Once. 

Coralie. What was her name? 

Gloade. Tve forgotten — almost. 

Coralie. Did you marry her — oh, no, you 
said it was a love affair. 

Gloade. (To Brearley) The young are so 
cynical. 

Parker. (Entering r. 1. e.) Some persons 
here to see you, sir. They want to inspect the 
laboratory. 

Gloade. Did I invite anybody? 

Parker. If you did, sir, it was without con- 
sulting me. 

Gloade. Then lock the door. 

Brearley. There are a few nice people at 
the hotel. Their curiosity was aroused by the 
high walls — there's nothing else in town to 
see — so I took the liberty of 

Gloade. Well then you take the liberty of 
entertaining them. 



THE CAT-BIRD 13 

Brearley. But they want to see you. One 
of them is an old friend. 

Gloade. Tell him to 

Brearley. (Hastily) She — Fll fetch them. 
(Exit R. 1. E.) 

CORALIE. She ! Oho ! 

Gloade. Some ghastly female scientist, no 
doubt. 

CORALIE. But love seems to be a science with 
you. 

Gloade. Wise child ! Won't you stop and — 
er — fend off these bores? I rather enjoy talk- 
ing to young people at this time of year. 
Grown-up people take on a protective colora- 
tion. They lie better than the young. 

CORALIE. Oh, I couldn't see anybody with 
my frock torn. 

Gloade. You think they might blame me? 

(CORALIE laughs derisively) Stop it! You're 
insulting ! 

CORALIE. I'm so sorry. 

Gloade. You go find Miss Evans. (Point- 
ing to L. 1. e.) She's my housekeeper and she 
does wonderful things with a needle. At least 
my socks never wear out once she's mended 
them. In fact I can't wear them at all. But 
she can fasten your frock so that it will hold 
shoulders. 

CORALIE. You won't give me away? 

Gloade. I can't very well. I don't think Fve 
heard your name. And I shouldn't remember 
it if I did. That is, if your name is Smith, 
Brown or Jones, it would escape me entirely, 
but if you were called Lasiocarpa Quercus, I'd 
never forget it. 

CORALIE. Why, you heard Tom call me 
Coralie. 



14 THE CAT-BIRD 

Gloade. Did I? Well Coralie sounds 
enough like an insect for me to remember. 
Coralie. I like that ! Goodbye. 

(She hurries out L. 1. e. as MURISON, Newlin, 
Miss Crosby and Miss Angevine come in 
R. 1. E. preceded by Brearley.) 

Brearley. Professor Gloade, may I present 
you to Mrs. Crosby and to Miss Angevine? And 
may I present to you Mr. Murison and Mr. 
Newlin ? 

Gloade. (Shaking hands with all of them, 
not noting Mrs. Crosby's quizzical smile) 
Charmed, Mrs. Crangeby, Miss Murilin, Mr. 
Colgate, Mr. Naseby. Very kind of you to come. 

Fanita. Awfully sweet of you to let us in. 

Gloade. Thanks — er — thanks. Not much 
to see. 

Murison. You call this a laboratory, I 
presume. 

Gloade. Well, it's a sort of laboratory, 
except that things are alive — so I call it a viva- 
rium. 

Newlin. Sounds impressive. 

Gloade. Are you interested in science? 

Newlin. Horribly! Fm a tenor, and if 
singing isn't a science 

Gloade. I must try it some time. 

Fay. Please don't. I've heard you. 

Gloade. (Startled) That voice! (Staring 
at her) You aren't — you must be — Fay ! 

Fay. Martin ! 

Gloade. Well, well. 

Brearley. (Edging in) Mrs. Crosby said 
she remembered you. 

Gloade. (Edging him out) And I didn't 
know you at all till I heard you speak. 



THE CAT-BIRD 15 

Fay. (To Gloade) Do you live all alone 

here? 

Gloade. Well, I have Parker, a sort of he 
old-maid and Miss Evans a he-old-bachelor. 

Fay. They don't take good care of you, I'm 
sure — or of the place either. Look at the dust 
and these spider webs. Where is a broom ? 

(She seizes Newlin's walking-stick and moves 
toward the web) 

Gloade. Stop, you vandal ! 

Fay. What's v^rong? 

Gloade. Do you want to destroy the bower 
of love — and break the hearts of Emma and 
Claude? 

Fay. Those loathsome objects? 

Gloade. You don't know spiders. They are 
among our best friends. 

Fay. But they bite and poison you. 

Gloade. Nonsense. It's almost impossible 
to find one that would harm you. Mosquitoes 
are twice as dangerous. Even tarantulas are 
cruelly slandered. 

F ANITA. They give me cold chills. 

Gloade. Ladies shudder at spiders and then 
dance with the most peculiar gentlemen. 

MuRiSON. (Cynically) Are you getting at 
me? 

Gloade. I don't know you. Am I ? 

MuRisoN. Are you? 

Gloade. I hope not. Male spiders are very 
pusillanimous. See, that's Claude — the little 
fellow. He's going to call on Emma again. See, 
he's signalling on her telephone wire now. He's 
all dressed up. There he goes. 

Fay. (AnxioiLsly) Is this going to be 
entirely proper? 

Gloade. For the present I think. If Emma 



16 THE CAT-BIRD 

catches him she'll kill him. After the honey- 
moon she's sure to kill him unless he's very 
spry. The bridegroom coldly furnishes forth 
the wedding breakfast himself. 

Fay. Horrible ! 

Gloade. Well, there's no reason why he 
should live. The higher in the scale of life we 
go the more important the father becomes, the 
longer he takes care of his children. But the 
male spiders abandon their wives as soon as 
they win them. They leave them to do all the 
work and give the children what little care they 
get. So why shouldn't the females kill them as 
soon as they 

Fanita. (To Murison darkly) You'd 
better take warning. (Murison laughs.) 

Gloade. Only a very few of the insects 
really understand marriage. The birds, how- 
ever — they say, that the only perfect marriages 
are among the birds. But that's not true, 
either. There are some scandalous rakes among 
the birds — and some very poor mothers. It's 
the same with the fish — all kinds of lovers and 
parents. In some families the male fish take 
care of the young while the mother gads and 
frivols. Are you interested in fish? 

Fay. Not in the least. 

Gloade. Then you're excused, but I'm going 
to ask Brearley to show the others the spawn of 
the — this is a very exciting day for me. I'm 
hatching. 

Fay. You're hatching? 

Gloade. In a manner of speaking. The 
eggs are being hatched in different sorts of 
water of varying degrees of saltiness to test the 
effect of salt on their prosperity. Tonight will 
be a very crucial time in the experiment. 



THE CAT-BIRD 17 

Fay. Then you couldn't come over to the 
hotel to 

Gloade. Not for love or money. 

Fay. I didn't offer you either — just music. 
Mr. Newlin will sing. 

Gloade. Perhaps I can hear from here. But 
Brearley is going to show you the specimens. 

Brearley. (Reluctant to leave Fay) Mrs. 
Crosby would be interested. 

Fay. Run along. FU rest here a moment. 

(Sits down,) 

Brearley. Perhaps 

Gloade. Run along, can't you? (Brearley 
leads the others out R. 1. E. with poor grace) 
(Staring at Mrs. C.) Well, Well! 

Fay. (Amiably) So you said before, Mar- 
tin. 

Gloade. I repeat it without fear of con- 
tradiction. Well, well ! 

Fay. And didn't you know me when you 
saw me ? 

Gloade. My eyes are fools, but my ears 
remembered. They still remember the last 
word you said to me. 

Fay. Do they? Do you? I've forgotten. 
What was the last word I said to you? 

Gloade. "No." And you married the hand- 
some, the wealthy Mr. — er — Mr. — I've forgotten 
his name, though I planned to kill him at the 
time. 

Fay. His name was Crosby. 

Gloade. (Indicating Murison and Newlin, 
who are drifting off) Is he either of those? 

Fay. Heavens, no ! I'm a widow. 

Gloade. That's good — bad ! — too bad ! Fm 
so sorry — have you been idle — single, long? 

Fay. About five years. 



18 THE CAT-BIRD 

Gloade. Why didn't you let me know? 

Fay. (With a smile) Don't you read the 
papers ? 

Gloade. By the time I've finished the Bul- 
letin of the Biological Commission, the Journal 
of Animal Behavior and the like, my reading 
time is over. 

Fay. Did you know there had been a war? 

Gloade. Oh, yes. They had me in harness. 
It was so like the terrible wars that go on in the 
animal and plant worlds. 

Fay. You don't call those wars? 

Gloade. They're just the same. In a fence 
comer you'll find the most ferocious battles — 
with weapons too. Hun weeds choking the 
flowers to death; on the clam-flats the lobster 
crabs commit frightful atrocities. There are 
armies of ants that make slaves. Life is an 
eternal warfare. 

Fay. They say we have made an end of 
human war with this war. 

Gloade. "They say! What do they say? 
Let them say!" War is only one of the forms 
of love, one of the chief activities of society. 
You can find traces of it in fossils, millions of 
years old. It's going on in that garden now. It 
will go on when we are fossils, millions of years 
old. 

Fay. You're not very encouraging. 

Gloade. That doesn't make much difference 
to eternity. But tell me about you. Have you — 
er — so you are a widow — any children? 

Fay. No, thank heaven. 

Gloade. I beg your pardon. 
Fay. Well — I don't care — I didn't love him 
and I should have hated to love any of his chil- 
dren. 



THE CAT-BIRD 19 

Gloade. I should have called you a very 
mothery sort of person. 

Fay. Oh, I am. I love other people's chil- 
dren and I have adopted my poor sister's child. 

Gloade. Boy? 

Fay. Girl, and a terrible responsibility, a 
girl is ! Especially Coralie. 

Gloade. Yes, Coralie v^ould be. 

Fay. (Startled) You know her ! When did 
you see her? 

Gloade. (Recovering himself) I didn't say 
I'd seen anybody, did I ? 

Fay. You said she would be a terrible re- 
sponsibility. 

Gloade. You said a girl was — and "espe- 
cially Coralie" and I politely agreed. Besides, 
anyone would know that a girl named Coralie 
would be. 

Fay. How can you tell people's character 
by their names? 

Gloade. You can tell their parents' charac- 
ter sometimes. The mother of a Coralie would 
be romantic — and — you see what I'm driving 
at? 

Fay. You seem to be driving away from 
something, too. But as I was saying — what 
was I saying? — no matter. 

Gloade. (Enjoying her immensely) How 
pleasantly you simmer. You're as cosy as a 
kettle. 

Fay. (Distrait) But tell me about your- 
self — I wish I knew where Coralie could 
be — What do you do all day long among your 
books and — she's so reckless — ^your learning 
must be appalling — the men simply flock after 
her. I'm ashamed to say I don't even know 
what ology you — ologize. 



20 THE CAT-BIRD 

Gloade. It's known as "ecology." 

Fay. E-what-ogy? Gireat heiavens, that's 
a new one — not that I know any of them. There 
might be a hundred new ones and I not any the 
wiser. Coralie is — I wish I knew someone to 
advise me about that girl. 

Gloade. Try me. 

Fay. You! She's not a fossil. She's alive 
and just had her coming-out party. 

Gloade. My vivarium here is one everlast- 
ing coming-out party. A debutante is a perfect 
subject for ecology. You see we ecologists don't 
study stuffed specimens or dissected sections 
under a microscope; we study life as it is lived 
in its environments. 

Fay. Really! Do you go to the drawing- 
rooms and dances? Coralie is horribly, peril- 
ously alive. You know that it doesn't seem 
quite nice to be too much alive. 

Gloade. It must be glorious, though. The 
animals and plants are ablaze with life — pas- 
sion. They fear nothing, they are willing to die 
for love. 

(Coralie comes in, tries to steal past the two. 
Fay turns and sees her, Gloade is dazed) 

Fay. Coralie ! 

Coralie. {With great presence of mind) 

Oh there you are, auntie. 

Fay. How on earth did you get here? 

Coralie. (Glibly) They told me at the 
hotel you were here, so I hurried right over. 

Fay. Have you met Professor Gloade? 

Coralie. Oh, how do you do. I've heard so 
much about you. 

Gloade. Have you ? 

Coralie. So I'm very proud to meet you. 



THE CAT-BIRD 21 

Gloade. (Bemuddled) Are you? Thank 
you, how do you do? 

Fay. (Siispiciouskj) And you haven't met 
before? 

CORALIE. How could we? (Hastily running 
to a case) Oh, these must be lovely — (Peers 
in, shudders) 

Gloade. Yes. That's Romeo and Juliet. 

CORALIE. Ugh, look they're holding hands— 
they're — good heavens they're kissing each 
other ! How hideous. I never want to be kissed 
again. 

Gloade. Again? 

Fay. That reminds me. The last I knew 
you were with Tom Forshay. What became of 
him? 

CORALIE. Tom? Oh, yes Tom. Why I lost 
him somewhere. 

Fay. I hope he'll stay lost. He's given up 
what little business he had to follow you round. 
You'll bankrupt him in mind and money, not 
that he has much of either to lose. 

CORALIE. If he weren't poor, he'd be very 
nice. (Looking off R.) If it's money you want 
me to cultivate, there's Roy Murison. He's 
rich. 

Fay. For heaven's sake keep away from 
him. He has the most terrible reputation. A 
home- wrecker, a heart-breaker. Besides that 
poor Miss Angevine is desperate about him. 

CORALIE. (Mitsing) How interesting to get 
one's heart broken. 

Fay. But not by such a scoundrel as Roy 
Murison. 

CORALIE. Who else would break it? 

Gloade. An expert in any line is interest- 
ing, eh? And experience is such a dear teacher. 



22 THE CAT-BIRD 

CORALIE. (To Gloade) You're not such a — 
such a dub after all. 

Fay. Coralie ! Really ! 

CORALIE. I don't mean to be crude, but you 
never expect a person who knows everything to 
know anjrthing. 

Gloade. Deep ! Deep ! 

Fay. Show me the laboratory, won't you? 

Gloade. Are you really interested? 

Fay. Anything that interests you 

Gloade, Help ! Help ! 

(Brearley comes in R. 1. E. evidently anxious 
to get Fay away from Gloade.) 

Brearley. Oh, Mrs. Crosby, you'd better 
take a look at these — {Seeing CORALIE, startled) 
Oh, there you are — again. 

Coralie. {Trying to silence him) Shh! Is 
Mr. Murison there ? (Brearley tio^s. Coralie 
exits R. 1. E.) 

Fay. {Going to Gloade %vho moves l. guilt- 
ily) And you said this was her first visit. 

Brearley. {Breaking in) First visit! Why 
she took refuge here from Forshay. 

Fay. Refuge! 

Brearley. The unspeakable brute threat- 
ened even me. 

Fay. Great Heavens! (To Gloade) Why 
didn't you tell me? 

Gloade. I was told not to tell. 

Fay. Forshay told you not to mention that 
he attacked my niece ! 

Gloade. It was not Forshay who told me. 

Fay. Who then? 

Gloade. Your niece. 

Fay. Coralie! {Aghast) I can't under- 
stand it. 



THE CAT-BIRD 23 

Gloade. Neither can I, unless it's a plain 
case of animal instinct. 

Brearley. Animal instinct — that's a pretty 
explanation ! 

Gloade. It's not an explanation — it's just a 
description. 

Brearley. Where I come from they lynch 
men who 

Gloade. Sometimes they ought to lynch the 
women who 

Fay. Martin ! You've gone mad. 

Gloade. Even Coralie realizes that she was 
partly to blame. Very decent of her, too. She's 
a good sport, I imagine. 

Fay. Risky business being a good sport — 
for a girl. 

Gloade. Everything's a risk. But the real 
fault is with Nature, the sunlight. We are 
hardly more than corks on a tidal wave — only 
the tidal waves don't reach some of us. There 
has never been one in this quiet cove — not as 
yet. But I'm getting anxious. 

Fay. Don't be absurd as well as vicious. 

Brearley. He is vicious. You might not 
think it to look at him, but he appalls me with 
his disgusting ideas. 

Gloade. Nothing is disgusting to science 
except falsehood and ignorance, and cowardice 
in the presence of truth. 

Fay. Do you know what the truth is about 
women ? 

Gloade. Heavens, no! I don't know the 
truth about houseflies. But I'm willing to learn. 
I like to make experiments and see what hap- 
pens. 

Fay. Are you planning to experiment with 
Coralie's life? 



24 THE CAT-BIRD 

Gloade. Not at all. She's doing all the ex- 
perimenting herself. 

Fay. But she's so young, so rash, and the 
consequence of one little misstep may be a 
wrecked life, shame, ruin. That doesn't happen 
in the animal world, does it? 

Gloade. Not so far as I know. Animals 
seem to be pleasantly devoid of remorse, 
modesty, scandal, newspapers. 

Fay. I wish I were one of them. 

Gloade. Well we must keep Coralie from 
going wrong. We'll tell her what a scoundrel 
this fellow Mapleson is. 

Fay. Murison. 

Gloade. Murison. 

Fay. For heaven's sake, don't attempt to 
advise her or coerce her. That was what 
wrecked my life. 

Gloade. You're rather a prosperous-looking 
wreck. 

Fay. My father and mother tried to manage 
my love affairs. But they couldn't. I was gentle 
enough till they tried to arrange my life. Then 
I grew ugly. They warned me against Crosby 
so of course I was fascinated by him. They saw 
he was a scoundrel. I decided to redeem him. 
They forbade him the house. I vowed that noth- 
ing should keep me from him. 

Gloade. Nature seems to object to parental 
selection of mates, eh? It drives the young to 
desperate declarations of independence. I sup- 
pose we'll have to let Coralie make her own 
choice. The young are wiser than we know 
sometimes — wiser than they know themselves. 

Fay. But Coralie seems bent on her own de- 
struction. 

Gloade. That's what hens think when duck- 
lings climb into the water. 



THE CAT-BIRD 25 

Fay. You saw how I warned her against 
Murison. 

Gloade. The reaction was perfect. She went 
right to him. (Coralie and Murison appear 
in the garden R. 2. E. and move about in close 
communion) 

Fay. (Looking out at back) Good Lord, 
he's got her alone in the garden. 

Brearley. Really the child is too innocent 
for words. 

Gloade. She seems to prefer to work in 
gardens. 

Fay. Martin ! 

Brearley. There he goes again ! He's really 
unfit for human society. 

Fay. How did Murison get rid of his cling- 
ing Angevine? 

Gloade. Coralie cut her out. (Peering out 
R.) Yet Miss Angevine is there with the tenor, 
Mr. — Nolan. 

Fay. Newlin. I wish Coralie would be nice 
to him. He sings beautifully and makes a lot 
of money. 

Gloade. As much as Matterhorn? 

Fay. Murison ! Oh he's supposed to be very 
rich. But he's such a scoundrel — one of those 
domineering beasts — takes a pride in having a 
bad name. He's breaking that poor Miss Ange- 
vine's heart now — and she hasn't much repu- 
tation left. 

Brearley. Then why do you associate with 
her? 

Fay. I feel sorry for the poor thing. And 
when I think of Coralie running the same risk, 
I could slap her. 

Gloade. Have you tried that? 

Fay. (Eagerly) Do you think it would do 
any good ? 



26 THE CAT-BIRD 

Gloade. How should I know. It has been 
tried I believe, but not with the best results. 
No^ my dear Fay, Fm afraid we can't manage 
other people. Your niece is making her choice 
among suitors, just as the birds and insects do. 
She is an orphan. Marriage is her career. 
Among human beings, money is strength, it 
takes the place of beauty, vigor, bravery. Men- 
delson — Murison may be her proper choice. 

Fay. But he isn't the marrying kind. He's 
a home-wrecker, not a home-builder. 

Gloade. Then he ought to be destroyed. 

Fay. Did you hear what he just said to her? 
(Gloade shakes his head) He said — ugh — ^he 
said "Little witch, you set my blood on fire." 

Gloade. It's the sun he means. What did 
Coralie say? 

Fay. I lost what she said telling you what 
he said. But her looks were enough. 

Gloade. Can you translate them? 

Fay. She looked so innocent — trustful — 
credulous. That's my only hope for her. 

Gloade. (Staring at her) She does look 
innocent, doesn't she? Could any woman pos- 
sibly be as innocent as she looks? 

Fay. No. Beware of the baby stare — I 
could smack Coralie when she puts it on. I'd 
rather hear a woman talk baby-talk than put on 
a baby stare. They know better but they can 
go just as wrong as if they were innocent. ' 

Gloade. So she's playing her part of the 
game, as cleverly as he is. 

Fay. The game? 

(Newlin and Fanita appear in the garden, 
Murison shows his impatience with Fa- 
nita, and ivalks away with Coralie. 
Fanita stares after him.) 



THE CAT-BIRD 27 

Gloade. What else is it but a game? For 
some mysterious reason among certain of us 
animals nature has decreed that the female shall 
be pursued, overtaken, overpowered. No more 
reason for it, I suppose, than for the rules of 
any other game. The rules of bridge or poker 
have no reason — no excuse except to make 
things more difficult and more interesting. If 
you don't obey them there's no game. So, as I 
see it, unless a woman plays the part that's 
written for her, there's no game. If She isn't 
frightened and won't pretend she is. He loses 
the glorious privilege of frightening her. If 
she doesn't run, he can't pursue her; if she 
doesn't surrender, he can't conquer. You see it 
among all the other animals. It must be true 
among the human animals. 

Fay. You're odious. 

Gloade. Don't quarrel with me — blame 
nature. I didn't make the world and I can't ex- 
plain anything in it. I'm just studying things, 
and the way they act. And I'm sure that every- 
thing human beings do or feel can be found 
among the animals, and vice versa. Men are 
just plants or animals that walk, run, and fly, 
sins, repent them, do them over again, and set 
up laws to disobey. Plants are just men who 
don't do any of those things. I've spent too 
many years on the plants and animals. I'll have 
to take a peek at the humans. 

Fay. It's high time. Come over to the hotel 
tonight. There's a musicale and a dance. 

Gloade. Oh, I'm not up to all that. I'll come 
over to tea with you alone sometime. 

Fay. Sometime is no time. Mr. Brearley, 
would you mind fetching Coralie? (Brearley 
goes into the garden) Come over this evening — 



28 THE CAT-BIRD 

Mr. Newlin will sing. Awful fool, but sings 
divinely. I'm quite idiotic about him myself. 

Gloade. Then Til poison him also, I think. 

Fay. Because I enjoy his music? 

Gloade. He thrills you! What better rea- 
son, could I have for killing him ? 

Fay. As if you cared! Years ago you let 
another man stampede me into marriage, and 
I really adored you then. You didn't care 
enough to fight. 

Gloade. I cared tremendously. I had noth- 
ing to offer you, then. I haven't now. I sup- 
pose you have dozens of suitors. 

Fay. Well, I've not been entirely neglected. 
Not all the men are as indifferent to my fate as 
you. 

Gloade. (Darkly) For instance 

Fay. Oh — one of the most persistent is 
Mr. — Brearley 

Gloade. (Jealously) That old fool. How 
can you tolerate the bore? 

Fay. Why he said he was one of your best 
friends. 

Gloade. "Was" is not "Is." 

Fay. Do come over to the hotel. 

Gloade. I can't this evening. I've got a 
most important job. Those fish cultures will 
mature tonight. If I'm not here they won't 
wait. 

Fay. (Despondently) Well, don't let me 
interfere with your work — not that you ever 

did — or would (Calling) Coralie! We'll 

be going now. 

Coralie. (From the garden) Yes, dear. 

(She comes in with the others, MURISON close 
to her. F ANITA close to him, Newlin and 
Brearley together) 



THE CAT-BIRD 29 

Brearley. {To Fay) I'll walk over to the 
hotel with you. Let me carry your parasol. 

Gloade. (Seizing it) Er — um — I'll carry 
it. 

Fay. You must not come beyond the gate. 
I will not interfere with your work for any- 
thing. 

Gloade. D — rat my work (He crowds 

out with Brearley and Fay. Newlin steps 
back for Fanita. Coralie lingers with MuRI- 
SON) 

MURISON. Shall I never be able to get a 
word with you? (MURISON is dominating and 
malevolent and Coralie shyly ingenuoics) 

Coralie. I'm always about the hotel. 

MURISON. But never alone. 

Coralie. Why, Mr. Murison ! 

MURISON. Do you know what a fascinating 
little devil you are? 

Coralie. Why, Mr. Murison ! 

Murison. What would you say to a little 
dash into the country in my motor? 

Coralie. Auntie would never allow it. 

Murison. She'd never catch up with my 
car. (Gloade appears r. a7id listens) 

Coralie. No, thanks. I don't like to ride 
too fast. 

Murison. We'll only go fast till we reach 
the beautiful solitudes — then — very, very 
slowly. 

Coralie. (Looking down into the snake- 
box) I wonder if sei^jents really do charm 
birds. (A low whirr from the cage) 

Gloade. I imagine it's the little birds that 
charm the poor serpents. 
Coralie. Why, Professor ! 
Gloade. Don't you "why, professor" me! 



30 THE CAT-BIRD 

Beware of her Mr. Mulingham. She's very dan- 
gerous, and you're only a poor weak creature. 
MURISON. {curtly) I'll be careful. 

CORALIE. Oh, has my Aunt gone ? 

Gloade, Yes, Miss Innocence, some time 
ago. 

CORALIE. She's such a fidgety old dear. I 
must hurry. Goodbye. I've had a lovely after- 
noon. I've learned such a lot. 

Gloade. So have I. 

CoRALiE. I'm coming over again, if I may. 

Gloade. If you will. 

C ORALIS. {Pointing to the garden) Is that 
gate always open ? 

Gloade. It's supposed to be locked, but you 
may have my key. {Takes it off ring) 

CORALIE. Splendid. I'll come over and learn 
more about these beautiful bugs. 

MURISON. {Much interested) And are you 
always here. Professor Gloade? 

Gloade. Always. (Murison looks disap- 
pointed) 

CORALIE. {Peering into the scorpion case) 
Do you know I'm getting so I can endure the 
scorpions? 

Gloade. {Eyeing Murison) So I see. 

Murison. {Putting out his hand) Goodbye. 

Gloade. {Taking up the jar of tarantulas 
to avoid his hand) Goodbye. {They go out) 

Parker. {Rushing in) The fish eggs are 
going to hatch any minute. They're eyeing 
already. There'll be lively doings tonight. 

Gloade. I shouldn't be surprised. By the 
way, my evening clothes — where are they? 

Parker. Safe in camphor, sir. 

Gloade. Damn ! 

Parker. You haven't worn them since you 



THE CAT-BIRD 31 

read your paper on Plant Competition before 
the Ecological Convention. 

Gloade. That's true. Well, get them out 
and air them at once. 

Parker. Are you going to read another 
paper? 

Gloade. No — yes — perhaps. 

Parker. But the fish eggs, sir ! 

Gloade. Damn the fish eggs. I — I mean 
1*11 be home early. Get out as much of the cam- 
phor as you can. 

Parker. Yes, sir ! But it'll be pretty strong. 

(The little spider makes a cautious approach 
and darts hack, closely pursued by the female) 

Parker. Emma nearly got Claude that 
time, sir. 

Gloade. (Pondering) Did she? Well per- 
haps we'd better not take those evening clothes 
out of camphor. 

CURTAIN 



ACT II. 

Scene: — The Hotel; that night. The scene 
shows an end of the piazza of a summer 
hotel, the piazza appearing to run round 
the end-room, of which the door opens on 
the piazza ju^t above L. 1. E. A curtained 
window opens on the piazza to the R. of the 
door, the end of the building is about the 
center of the stage. The R. half of the stage 
is occupied by the piazza, which ends at 
trees and shrubs to mark the R. wings. 



32 THE CAT-BIRD 

Piazza entrances L. 1. E. and L. U. E. 
The light inside the hotel is on throughout, 
showing only slightly along the edges of 
the curtains at the ivindoiv. The door is 
solid and not transparent. Near it is a 
switch by which the piazza lights can be 
turned on with full illumination. When 
this light is off, the piazza is bathed in 
moonlight. A light railing runs clear across 
the stage just back of the curtain line and 
should be so supported as to be practicable 
for people to sit on with their feet dangling 
over. This railing also runs up R. and 
along the back of the stage to ivhere it 
disappears behind the hotel. It need not 
be practicable except along the front. A 
few slender columns uphold the roof of this 
piazza. On one of them to the L. a climb- 
ing rosebush is in bloom. The usual porch 
furniture is scattered about. 

The back cloth shoivs a moonlit lake with 
the light rippling on the water. 

Before the rise, and for a short time after, 
Newlin is heard inside the room singing 
beautifully an appealing love song. The 
piazza lights are off, 

Gloade is on the stage at rise, but at first 
is unseen, save for the light of his cigar 
and the soles of his feet tvhich rest on the 
piazza rail as he lounges in an easy chair 
near h, 1. E. He is in evening dress and 
should look more perfectly groomed than 
the subsequent language would indicate. 

Draped along the balcony rail are two 
dimly descried couples. Near the center is 
MURISON with Fanita, she staring for- 
ward into space, he turning to stare at 



THE CAT-BIRD 33 

CORALIE. CoRALiE sits 071 the rail near 
R. I.E. a^ a woman sits on a horse sidewise. 
She is smoking a cigarette. With her is 
Ronald, a bored youth also smoking; he 
sits on the rail with his feet hanging over 
toward the footlights, which of course are 
out. 

Other couples may be seen at the back 
of the stage silhouetted against the moonlit 
waters of the lake. Gloade's cigar gleams 
and the smoke rises. After a few moments 
of silence save for the tenor's ringing 
phrases Ronald shifts restlessly and 
speaks: 

Ronald. Coralie, I say, is that hoot-owl of 
a Newlin going to too-hoo all night? When do 
we dance? 

Coralie. (Softly) Shut up, Ronald! and 
listen. (Another pause) 

F ANITA. (Sentimentally) Oh, Roy, if music 
be the food of love 

MURISON. Give me a drink. 

(Coralie moves up to back of stage and stares 
off at the moon. Ronald tags after her. An- 
other pause. Fanita turning to MURISON 
languishly sees that his eyes have followed 
Coralie. The song continues softly through 
the following scene which should be read 
in a tense low tone with occasional out- 
bursts of excitement from Fanita.) 

Fanita. Oh Roy, what are you staring at? 

MURISON. Am I? 

Fanita. That Coralie Tippet, of course. 

MURISON. (Wearily) Am I? 

Fanita. I suppose you'd like me better if I 



34 THE CAT-BIRD 

flirted with every pair of trousers in sight as 
she does. 

MURISON. Probably, Fanita. 

Fanita. Roy Murison, I wish I could hate 
you the way you deserve. 

Murison. I wish you could, Fanita. 

Fanita. {Excitedly) But I can't. To think 
that I believed you, and let you — but you made 
me love you. 

Murison. (Humming, mockingly) "I didn't 
want to do it. I didn't want to do it." 

Fanita. You ought to be struck dead for 
your heartlessness. 

Murison. Now, Fanita, you really can't 
order a thunderbolts for one on such a pretty 
night as this. Besides, if I'm heartless why do 
you keep appealing to what isn't there? 

Fanita. {Frantically) Because "Once a 
fool always a fool," I suppose. But you'd better 
watch out, Roy. Fools can be dangerous. You'll 
marry me or you'll marry nobody. 

(Gloade coughs to indicate his presence.) 

Murison. It is customary to send wedding 
announcements through the mail, my dear, not 
to deliver them by megaphone. 

Fanita. If I had cared what is customary 
should I have come down here with you ? 

Murison. I think, my dear, it's about time 
for you to go back. 

Fanita. But I can't, now. My God, I can't 
— except with a ring on my finger. 

Murison. You have several bright ones 
there. One of them I gave you. 

Fanita. But there's one ring missing. 

Murison. Why don't you get a new record 
for your phonograph. If you must play it again, 
let's walk away from all these ears. 



THE CAT-BIRD 35 

(He moves h. She follows. He stares at the 
vague figure of Gloade and goes out L. I.E. 
with Fanita. The light of Gloade's cigar 
shows that he has followed them off with 
his eyes. He puffs excitedly. The song 
ends. There is a sound of faint applause.) 

Ronald. (Coming forward with Coralie) 
Thank the Lord, he's got that off his chest! 
They'll let us have a dance now. Come on. 

Coralie. (Striking a match) Let's smoke 
it out. I feel all dreamy. 

Ronald. No you don't. 

(He blows out the match and starts to drag 
Coralie toward the door. The brief prelude 
of an encore is begun.) 

Coralie. (Hanging back) The nightingale 
is going to sing again ! 

Ronald. (Grief-stricken) The nightingale 
is going to hog the whole evening. 

Coralie. (Coldly) Ronald, do you want to 
make a great hit with me? 

Ronald. (Fervently) You know I do! 

Coralie. Then make a noise like a fish. 
Your speaking voice simply cannot compete 
with Newlin's singing voice. He stirs some- 
thing within me. Oh, I wonder if after all, I 
am destined to be won by a tenor. 

Ronald. None of your other flirts sings. Is 
Murison a tenor? I never heard Tom Forshay 
bark. 

Coralie. No, but they have charms of their 
own. 

Ronald. Haven't I any? 

Coralie. You've never taken me into your 
confidence. What gifts have you? 



36 THE CAT-BIRD 

Ronald. I adore you, dog-on you ! Doesn't 
that count for anything? 

CORALIB. Of course not. The important 
thing is, do I adore you, darling ? 

Ronald. Why, I follow you round like a dog. 

CORALIE. But Fve got a dog. 

Ronald. Those other fellows want you for 
themselves. Fd die for you. 

CORALIE. Then go away and die quietly, for 
just now I don't want to hear anything but that 
song. I feel like a — a — an aeolian harp. Oh, 
music, music, wherefore art thou music? Let's 
go round to the window. 

Ronald. To be ready to dance? 

CORALIE. No ! So that I can watch his beau- 
tiful features. He told me that he thought only 
of me when he sang. 

Ronald. He told me he thought only of his 
diaphragm. 

(She tiptoes up the piazza and back of the hotel 
L. U. E. followed by Ronald.) 

Brearley. (Opens the door for Fay who 
steps out. She wear's a beautiful evening goivn) 
(Brearley briskly) The air's better out here, 
isn't it? 

Fay. Shh ! 

Brearley. (Louder) What did you say? 

Fay. I said Hush ! 

Brearley. (Volubly, to Fay's exasperation) 

Oh, I beg your pardon ! Did I drown the music? 
I'm very sorry, very. I didn't think. I noticed 
you were quite carried away by the song, but 
somehow music always seems to suggest con- 
versation to me. 
Fay. Evidently. 



THE CAT-BIRD 37 

{The song ends. There is faint applause.) 

Brearley. But ril be very quiet now. 

Fay. It's not necessary now. 

Brearley. Kind of a nice little old night, 
eh? Moon — stars — and fragrance — there's a 
kind of pungent fragrance out here. 

Fay. Decidedly. 

Brearley. What flower is it? 

Fay. Camphor. 

Brearley. (Sniffing) That's right — very 
marked odor of camphor. 

Gloade. {Growling. Stealthily) Damn it!. 

{Gets up and moves to L.) 

Fay and Brearley. {To each other) I beg 
pardon. I didn't speak. Someone did. Who's 
that? (Brearley switches on the light, dis- 
closing Gloade tiptoeing away) 

Fay. Martin ! 

Brearley. Gloade ! 

Fay. I was wondering why you didn't come. 

{Going to him) 

Gloade. Stand back. Keep your distance. 

Fay. Why, what on earth ? 

Gloade. That fool Parker kept my evening 
clothes in mothballs and I'm a pest. 

Fay. Why, I don't mind it. Camphor is 
rather refreshing. I rather like it. {She takes 
his hand very cordially) It grows on me. 

Gloade. Well, in that case, help yourself. 
Hang the expense. Breathe in deeply. 

Fay. {Noting Brearley with disfavor) 
Oh, Mr. Brearley, I left my knitting-bag in the 
music-room. Would you mind ? 

Brearley. I'd fly to the ends of the world 
for you. {Exit into hotel) 



38 THE CAT-BIRD 

Gloade. a good place for him. But why 
didn't you let me run your errands for you? 

Fay. Send an eminent man like you when a 
Brearley was at hand ? 

Gloade. I surrender. Tact is a weapon that 
only human insects are armed with — and few 
of us. 

Fay. Can't we forget the insects for a 
while — (A June-bug bounces against the ceiling 
and drops near her. She shrieks, gasps, brushes 
at her shoulders, looks about on the floor) 
There it is! Step on it quick. (She lifts her 
foot to cru^h it) 

Gloade. Stop, assassin ! Let me see it first. 
(Kneeling and seizing it) Wonderful! This 
is the only specimen I've ever seen in this vicin- 
ity of the Lachnotherna gracilis. It's very rare. 

Fay. (Shuddering) It can't be too rare for 
me. 

Gloade. (Dropping it into an envelope he 
takes from his pocket) See, you've brought me 
luck already. 

Fay. You're not going to keep that ghastly 
creature on your person? 

Gloade. Ghastly? Cleopatra would have 
called him a sacred scarab. 

Fay. She can have my copy. 

Gloade. Why he's gorgeous! iridescent! 
He's in full uniform for courtship. Look ! 

Fay. (Avertiyig her gaze) He needn't come 
courting me ! 

Gloade. (Sighs) Very well. I see that my 
profession isn't as fascinating as a tenor's. (He 
puts the envelope in his pocket) 

Fay. It's won you a more lasting fame — 
Will you come in now? The people are eager 
to meet the noted 



THE CAT-BIRD 39 

Gloade. Yes, I'd be very much noted in 
there. No. Fm a camphorated exile. 

Fay. Come along. 

Gloade. Never. It's not so bad out here. 
The camphor keeps the mosquitoes at a respect- 
ful distance. But I don't go in there. 

Fay. You're not planning to sit outside here 
all evening. 

Gloade. No. Fm going home. My fish eggs 
are crying for their brood-papa. I only waited 
to tell you I couldn't v^ait. 

Fay. Well, I'll sit out here v/ith you. 

Gloade. That's different. (He groivs very 
amiable, then groans) Oh, Lord, there comes 
Brearley back from the ends of the world. 
Can't we lose him. (Fay tucks her scarf back 
of her) 

Brearley. Here is your knitting, my dear 
Mrs. Crosby. But you can't see to knit out here. 

Fay. I don't have to, my needles know their 
way about. {She leans against the rail and her 
fingers fly) 

Brearley. (About to sit down) I love to 
watch you. 

Fay. Thank you. Oh dear, there's such a 
draft here and I left my scarf on the — on 
the 

Gloade. On the ends of the world, Brearley, 
if you don't mind. 

Fay. Could you be so good again? 

Brearley. Eh? Oh! Certainly. (He goes 
into the hotel) 

(Fay laughs.) 

Gloade. If you ever ask me to get anything, 
I'll know why. 

(Fay laughs and knits fleetly. Gloade watch- 
ing her in wonder.) 



40 THE CAT-BIRD 

Fay. You are observing, aren't you? Now 
tell me all about yourself, what youVe been 
doing all these years — why don't you write some 
books that plain people can read? — what new 
problems have you been solving recently ? 

Gloade. Fve just solved one great mystery. 

Fay. What's that? 

Gloade. The old puzzle — v/hy do women 
love to knit. 

Fay. Well, why do they? 

Gloade. So that they can have something 
to think about while they're talking. 

Fay. {Ruffled) Indeed ! 

Gloade. I suppose old Brearley will be 
stumbling back here any moment with your 
scarf. 

Fay. I don't think so. 

Gloade. Where is it? 

Fay. I'm sitting on it. 

Gloade. (Encouraged) Why, Fay! — ^you 
don't mean — ha, ha, that's how Brearley stands 
with you? Ha! (He puts his arm around the 
roses on the pillar — draws hack his hand with 
an — ) Ouch ! 

Fay. What on earth? 

Gloade. This infernal rosebud bit me! 

Fay. (Seizing his hand and wrapping her 
handkerchief round the finger) Oh dear! I 
hope it's not a mortal wound. 

Gloade. I'll try to live. All you roses have 
thorns, haven't you? 

Fay. (Sadly) Some of us — have only the 
thorns left. 

Gloade. But you bloom again. That's the 
way with you. Fay. You were pretty when I 
loved you before, but now you are beautiful. 

Fay. Martin! Is it possible that you can 



THE CAT-BIRD 41 

still say such graceful things? You must have 
kept in practice. 

Gloade. No. Fm like the nightingale. He 
sings only to woo his ladybird 

Fay. And when he has won her he stops 
singing. 

Gloade. No, he goes on singing to cheer her 
till the nestlings are safe. 

Fay. And then he stops. 

Gloade. Well, if anything happens to the 
brood — or the nest is wrecked or robbed, he 
begins to sing again till they've built another 
nest and — er — raised a family. 

Fay. (Tenderly) A nice bird, the nightin- 
gale. 

Gloade. But it's Mrs. Nightingale that fur- 
nishes the inspiration. 

Fay. And will you sing to me? 

Gloade. Different suitors have different 
suits. Some sing, some dance, some turn somer- 
saults, some fight. 

Fay. And what is your specialty? 

Gloade. (Growing very much infatuated) 
What would most interest you ? 

Fay. (Meekly) Whatever interests you, 
Martin. 

Gloade. (With a start) Lord, but you're a 
dangerous woman ! 

Fay. (Shocked) Why, what do you mean? 

Gloade. You spread your webs in the most 
unexpected places. I fly into them wherever I 
dodge. 

Fay. I don't understand what you're talking 
about. 

Gloade. Neither do I. I'd better be getting 
back to my shop. 

Fay. I can't imagine what I've said to 
offend you. 



42 THE CAT-BIRD 

Gloade. Oh, if you'd only offend me, Fd be 
ever so much obliged. But you don't — you won't 
— and that's what makes you so dangerous. 

Fay. Martin, I think the fumes of that 
camphor have gone to your head ! 

Gloade. Then I'll take myself back to my 
work. Good night. (He lifts his hat and moves 
L.) 

Fay. (Sweetly, moving l) Good night. 
Come over again when you can spare the time. 

Gloade. (Pausing) There you go again. 
Why don't you get mad when I insult you ? 

Fay. (Pausing near L. 1. E.) You haven't 
insulted me, have you? It's only natural that 
you should prefer your fascinating career to a 
stupid babbler like me. 

Gloade. Oh, Lord, I'm a goner! Don't you 
see that you're utterly ruining my interest in 
my work? Making it tiresome, lonesome, 
ridiculous ? 

Fay. I think it's wonderful, and I want you 
to get right back to it. I'd never forgive myself 
if I caused the least interruption in your studies. 
Please go home. 

Gloade. I will not! You shall not send me 
away like a — a — Brearley ! 

Fay. Then stay by all means. I need your 
help terribly. 

Gloade. (Sitting down) That's better. 

Fay. You're sure I'm not interfering vdth 
your work? 

Gloade. Oh, let's forget my work. (He 
switches off the light) 

Fay. Well, it's about Coralie, of course — 
have you seen her tonight? 

Gloade. No, but I've heard her. I've been 
spying and eavesdropping on animals so long 
that I've got the habit of snooping. I suppose I 



THE CAT-BIRD 43 

shall gradually work up from microscopes to 
keyholes. 

Fay. Coralie wasn't with Murison, was she? 

Gloade. No, Murison was learning that 
while it is great fun catching a fish it's some- 
times most unpleasant getting it off the hook. 
Miss Angevine will probably pull Mr. Murison 
out of the boat before she's finished with him. 

Fay. Poor thing! if she only keeps him 
away from Coralie. 

Gloade. Coralie is having her troubles, too, 
trying to unhook a dancing young tarpon called 
— Donald ? 

Fay. Ronald? 

Gloade. That's it — that's he. 

Fay. She wasn't flirting with him? 

Gloade. No, he was flirting at her, but she 
was raving over that he-canary, Nolan. Her 
immediate ambition seems to be to be a tenor's 
bride. 

Fay. (Relieved) Tenors don't have brides, 
they have audiences. So long as Coralie plays 
with him, there's safety in numbers. 

Gloade. It's about time for old Brearley to 
come bumble-beeing back. Can't we escape? 

Fay. We might look along the piazza for 
Coralie. 

Gloade. A splendid suggestion. You'll want 
your scarf now. (He puts it round her 
shoulders gallantly and they tiptoe past the door 
and out L. 1. E. in a gay conspiracy as Coralie 
comes round from L. u. E. with RONALD.) 

Ronald. Your tenor can't get to you 
through that gang of women in the parlor. 

Coralie. The harpies! He was singing to 
me and they divide it up among themselves. 

Ronald. Will you dance with me then? 



44 THE CAT-BIRD 

CORALIE. (Dolefully) No, thanks. My 
dancing days are done. I'm a broken-hearted 
woman. 

Ronald. You're a broken-hearted depart- 
ment store ! Will you come with me in my canoe 
for a drift? 

CORALIE. No, I think I'll go in. 

Ronald. If you go to that tenor, I'll do 
something desperate. 

CORALIE. (Petulantly) Oh, if you only 
would, Ronnie. I don't mean to hurt you, 
Ronnie, but I hate to see you so meek in my 
presence. It's not in the least flattering to me ; 
it's as if I acted on you like a drug. A girl wants 
to be a stimulant not a sedative. 

Ronald. All right, I'll go in and beat up that 
tenor. Would you love me if I did ? 

CORALIE. I'd never speak to you again. 
Marring a great artist ! 

Ronald. Then what do you want me to do? 

CORALIE. Go and be somebody yourself. 

Ronald. Get rich or famous, you mean ? 

CORALIE. Anything. Don't you see, you 
sweet child, that you can never make a girl love 
you by trying to make her love herself? She 
doesn't want her husband to be always looking 
up to her. She wants to look up to him, once in 
a while. 

Ronald. (Loftily) Coralie, I think I'm 
beginning to understand. You are waking a 
great ambition in my soul. You're not so cruel 
as you seem. 

Coralie. I don't mean to be cruel at all, but 
even if I did, and wanted to drag you down, 
you'd have to get up somewhere that I could 
drag you down from. As it is now, you're just a 
darling boy, mooning around for kisses that 
don't mean anything. There's no thrill in them. 



THE CAT-BIRD 46 

Ronald. But if I were somebody of im- 
portance 

CORALIE. Yes, then it would be ever so excit- 
ing to wreck your life or get on the bandwagon 
and ride with you. 

Ronald. I see. All right, I'll get a band- 
wagon and come back. I wonder what I ought 
to go in for. 

(As he ponders, Brearley enters from the 
hotel, switches on the light, sees CORALIE.) 

Brearley. Oh, Miss Tippet, have you seen 
your Aunt ? 

CORALIE. Not for some time. 

Brearley. Have you seen her scarf? 

CORALIE. I don't believe so. 

Brearley. Now, I've lost them both. Have 
you seen Gloade? (Coralie shakes her head 
and hums the last song of the tenor. BREARLEY 
sniffs) I wonder where Gloade has gone. (He 
sniffs) This way, I judge, (exit L. 1. E.) 

Ronald. I can't decide on a career just yet, 
but the important thing is, will you wait ? 

Coralie. How long will you be? 

Ronald. (Magnificently) Oh, I suppose it 
will take me a year or two to get rich or famous. 
Will you wait? 

Coralie. Well, I don't know, dear. I don't 
trust myself very long and I advise you not to. 
But you run along and become a great man and 
then if I'm taken you can find some other girl 
far more worthy of you. 

Ronald. I'll never care for anybody else. 

Coralie. Then maybe you can be my second 
or third husband. Or I might turn out to be an 
adventuress and you could help me wreck my 
home. There's no telling what I'll be. I feel 
terrible things sometimes struggling in my 



46 THE CAT-BIRD 

heart. But if I shall have sent you forward to a 
great future, it will be some expiation for my 
wicked past. 

Ronald. But you've got no past. 

CORALIE. I mean, of course, my terrible 
future. 

Ronald. Gosh, but you're queer tonight. 
You'd better come in and dance it off. 

CORALIE. I want to be alone, Ronnie. You 
run along. 

Ronald. (HorHfied) Run along! She still 
treats me like a child in spite of my career. 
Well, I will run along. I'll grab the first girl 
that I find. You needn't wait for me to get rich 
or famous. 

CORALIE. (Demurely) All right, I won't. 

(She moves up to back of steps not seeing and 
not seen by MURISON and Fanita who come 
on L. 1. E.) 

Fanita. You've ruined my life. 

MURISON. Shh! It doesn't always pay to 
advertise. 

Ronald. Oh, there you are Miss Angevine! 
I've been looking for you everywhere. 

Fanita. For me? 

Ronald. Yes. I want you to dance with me. 

Fanita. (Pleasantly amazed) Really? — 
Why — why thank you! (Bitterly) If Mr. 
Murison will excuse me. 

MuRlSON. Certainly. Certainly. 

(Fanita with a sigh of despair seizes Ronald's 
arm and hurries into the hotel with him. 
CORALIE, humming with profound mel- 
ancholy, comes down, sees MURISON. They 
pause and stare at each other like two 
duellists, slowly adjusting their features 



THE CAT-BIRD 47 

for an encounter. The dance music begins 
inside,) 

MURISON. You! And alone! Will you 
dance this with me ? 

CORALIE. I just refused Ronnie. 

MURISON. A turn or two out here won*t do 
you any harm. 

CORALIE. {Studying him) All right. 

(MURISON switches off the light, CORALIE 
protests) You musn*t do that. 

MuRlSON. The light only draws the moths — 
as you draw me. 

CORALIE. Why, Mr. Murison. {He goes to 
her and takes her in his arms.) 

Murison. At last I have you where I want 
you. 

CORALIE. We're not supposed to stand like 
this except when we're dancing. 

Murison. Why should it be more proper one 
way than the other. 

CORALIE. Oh, it's just custom, I suppose — or 
the jumping about. 

Murison. So long as there's nobody to see 
us. 

CORALIE. That makes it improperer still. 

Murison. I don't agree with you. 

CORALIE. Really, you must let me go. 

Murison. Never. 

CORALIE. {Feigning a struggle) Be mer- 
ciful as you are strong. 

Murison. The same to you. Have pity on 
me. 

CORALIE. What do you mean by pity? 

Murison. {ferociously) Give me love for 
love, fire for fire. 



48 THE CAT-BIRD 

CoRALiE. You frighten me. Don*t make me 
call for help. 

MuRisoN. You won't do that. 

CORALIE. Why do you think so? 

MURISON. Because if you had intended to 
scream you wouldn't have waited s© long. 

CoRALiE. You think Fm as wicked as every- 
body says you are ? 

MuRisoN. Yes ! 

CORALIE. I like that! (She frees herself 
from his arms and moves to the rail) 

MURISON. (Following closely) I know you 
do. 

CORALIE. Your knowledge of women is un- 
canny — based on a very wide experience, I sup- 
pose. 

MuRisoN. Yes. 

CORALIE. Well, even if I were as wicked as 
you think, I should have to be still more foolish 
to permit you to — to be so foolish. 

MURISON. Why? 

CoRALiE. Because somebody is sure to wan- 
der in. This isn't a desert island exactly. 

MURISON. (Despei^ately) Then come with 
me where we can be alone. 

CORALIE. I'm afraid of you. 

MURISON. And I'm afraid of you. You make 
my poor heart — race ! 

CoRALiE. I? And you so rich and — experi- 
enced. 

MURISON. I never experienced such — such 
anguish as you inspire ! 

CORALIE. You don't mean that you really 
care for me. 

MURISON. I'm insane about you. I can't live 
unless I win you. 

CoRALiE. I don't want to be won. I'm too 



THE CAT-BIRD 49 

young to marry yet. I want to see a little of life 

first. 

MURISON. You're as wise as you are beau- 
tiful. Don't be in a hurry to marry. See life 
first — let me teach you to live — and to love. 
{Seizing her in his arms.) 

CORALIE. You frighten me. 

MURISON. Don't be afraid of love. It is 
paradise — only cowards are afraid of love. 

CORALIE. (Putting his arms away) Really 
— if someone should see us. 

MURISON. Come into the garden. 

CORALIE. It's full of spooning couples. 

MURISON. There's one place we could really 
be alone. 

CORALIE. Where? 

MURISON. In your room. 

CORALIE. (Amazed) Mr. Murison ! 

MURISON. You'd be safe there. I wouldn't 
harm you for worlds. 

CORALIE. But the scandal! Besides, my 
Aunt's room is just adjoining. 

MURISON. Then come to my room. 

CORALIE. (Astounded) Really! (She starts 

to go) 

Murison. (Catching her hand and drawing 
her back) Don't leave me to die of despair. 
I'm going away probably tomorrow. It may be 
our last chance. 

CORALIE. Let me go ! 

Murison. I implore you. You drive me 
mad. 

CoRALlE. You are mad — to ask me to take 
such a risk. 

Murison. There's no risk; you could go to 
your own room and step out on this balcony and 
walk right round to my window. 

Coralie. Which is your window? 



50 THE CAT-BIRD 

MURISON. (Moving up the balcony) Right 
overhead (Fanita appears at the door fol- 
lowed by Ronald. She pauses keeping Ronald 
back and not seeing MURISON or CORALIE. 
Listens intently.) 1*11 leave you and go to my 
room. Then in a few minutes you come up and 
come round by the balcony. I'll be at my win- 
dov^ v^^aiting, will you ? 

CORALIE. You're sure I can trust you ? 

MURISON. Utterly. I swear it. 

CORALIE. Well — 

(Fanita clenches her hand, smothers a scream, 
an expression of fierce resolution on her 
face. She ivaves Ronald back and closes 
the door.) 

MURISON. God bless you. (Kissing her 
hands) 

Coralie. That's a funny prayer. 

MURISON. You won't fail me, will you? 

Coralie. I won't promise. 

MURISON. I know you will. I'll be waiting 
for you. 

(Tom Forshay opens the door and steps out.) 

FORSHAY. (Calling softly) Coralie, oh 
Coralie. 

MURISON. (Dragging Coralie back) Don't 
answer him. (Tom switches on the light and 
moving R. sees Coralie and Murison.) 

Forshay. Hello ! I've been looking for you 
everywhere. 

Coralie. Well, and now you've found me? 

Forshay. I'd like this next dance, please. 

Coralie. I'm not dancing tonight. 

Forshay. You'd better be. 

Coralie. Not with you, Tom. 



THE CAT-BIRD 51 

FORSHAY. Why not? 

CORALIE. You know well enough. 

FoRSHAY. Ah, I've apologized. Come on. 

(CORALIE shakes her head) Please! 

MURISON. Miss Tippet does not wish to 
dance with you. 

FoRSHAY. She prefers your society, eh? 

MURISON. She does me that honor. 

FoRSHAY. (Hotly) Well, she does herself 
mighty little honor in preferring you — even to 
me. 

CORALIE. Tom, you'd better go on about 
your business. 

FoRSHAY. You're my business, the only 
business I have ; and anyway, I don't like to see 
you in the company of that — that 

CORALIE. I'll choose my own company if 
you don't mind. 

FoRSHAY. But I do mind. You may not 
choose me, but you can't choose him. 

CORALIE. And why not? 

FoRSHAY. Because I say not. 

CORALIE. And how will you prevent it? 

FoRSHAY. By simply beating him to a pulp. 
That's how. Even you wouldn't care for him 
as pulp. 

MURISON. (Bluffing) Are you trying to 
start a fight with me? 

FoRSHAY. Yes ! 

MURISON. (A little staggered) Haven't you 
any respect for Miss Tippet? 

FoRSHAY. Too much to let you lay your 
slimy hands on her. 

MuRlSON. If you have so much respect for 
her, you'll not try to embroil her in a scandal. 

FoRSHAY. It would be a nice clean scandal 
compared to any of your making. I tell you. 



52 THE CAT-BIRD 

You're not going to add Coralie to your fat little 
souvenir-book, while I have my health. 

MuRisoN. You — you 

FORSHAY. (Goadingly) Go on and say 
something so I can slug you just once. (MuRl- 
SON pulls a penknife from his pocket and opens 
it, while Coralie stands fascinated and 
FoRSHAY laughs at MURISON.) Take an axe 
and I'll get you just the same. Go on! Say 
something ! I beg you ! 

(Gloade strolls in R. with Fay and Brearley. 
He and Brearley glare at each other 
across Fay.) 

(Fay pauses, gasps, points to the two men, 
squaring off,) 

Fay. Look! 

Gloade. Aha, the stags are locking horns, 
while the doe stands enchanted. 

Fay. {Aghast) They mustn't fight. Stop 
them! 

Gloade. Oh, let them settle it. 

Fay. Mr. Brearley, you stop them. 

Brearley. (Retreating) Er — ah — um 

FoRSHAY. {To MURISON) So you won't 
fight me, eh? Then will you promise never to 
speak to Coralie again ? 

MURISON. No. 

FoRSHAY. Then I'll smash you for that. 

{He jumps at MURISON, dodges the slash of the 
knife and seizes him by the wrist and 
throat, bending him over the rail and twist- 
ing his arm till MURISON drops the knife.) 

Fay. {To Gloade) I implore you ! 
Gloade. {Sadly) Since you insist. {He 
advances, picks up the knife, puts it against 



THE CAT-BIRD 53 

Forshay's n6s and says calmly) Young man, 
if you don't let that other young man up, I'll 
impale you and put you on a card. 

FORSHAY. (Releasing MURISON and backing 
off) I'm sorry. I lost my head. 

Gloade. Lost it ! You've never found it. 

FORSHAY. (To MURISON, who is wavering) 
Keep away from Coralie, that's all. (To 
CORALIE) Will you forgive me again? 

Coralie. I haven't forgiven you the first 
time yet. 

FORSHAY. (Dejectedly) I'm sorry. (He 
goes out sadly at hack) I'm always wrong. 

MURISON. (Straightening his tie and trying 
to smile) He took advantage of me — when my 
foot slipped. 

Gloade. Don't let it slip again. This is your 
knife, I believe. 

MURISON. (Taking it) Thanks. I can't tell 
you how deeply I regret this incident. (He bows 
to all. As he parses Coralie, he makes a signal, 
indicating his window above. He enters the 
hotel.) 

Fay. (To Coralie) You poor dear, what 
on earth happened ? 

Coralie. (Wrathfully) It was all Tom's 
fault, he thinks he owns me. 

Fay. He's an outrageous brute. 

Coralie. (Defending him) Well, I suppose 
he can't help being jealous, but he makes me 
simply furious. (To Gloade) He'd have killed 
poor Mr. Murison if you hadn't interfered. 

Gloade. I didn't want to. 

Fay. Why, Martin Gloade! You're pos- 
itively bloodthirsty. 

Gloade. When man interferes with the 
tides of nature, he's apt to regret it. 



54 THE CAT-BIRD 

Fay. You couldn't regret saving the life of 
Mr. Murison ? 

Gloade. Nobody is indispensable, you know 
— least of all, Murison. 

Fay. But Tom then — he would have been 
tried for murder. 

Gloade. I hadn't thought of that. Human 
institutions do complicate things, don't they? 
And the trial would have cost the State thou- 
sands of dollars that might be better spent on 
scientific investigations. 

Fay. Really, Martin, you appall me with 
your flippancy. 

Gloade. Flippancy? Solemnity! There 
are enormous problems to be worked out in 
laboratories — cures for diseases of man — 
animals, and plants — influenza, glanders, boll 
weevils, bolshevism, everything the world suf- 
fers from — problems whose solution would save 
countless lives, billions of dollars, tons of food. 
We can hardly get a cent from the state for 
such work. But let some worthless imbecile 
shoot another and — ah, how the money pours 
out then! A hundred thousand dollars — two 
hundred thousand, if necessary to squander on 
the vote of a jury as to whether the killer shall 
go free or not And all the while the toss of a 
penny would assure just as wise a decision. 

Fay. (Impatiently turning to Coralie) 
Don't listen to him, my child. I'm so sorry for 
you, you poor darling. Can't I help you some- 
how. Won't you let me help you ? 

Coralie. (A little hysterically) You're 
very kind, but — I wish everybody would quit 
trying to save me. I'll either save myself or 
take the consequences. 

Fay. But the consequences may be so fright- 
ful. Do be careful. 



THE CAT-BIRD 55 

CORALIE. Oh, there's time enough to be care- 
ful when you can't be anything else. I'll settle 
down when Fm old, but now 

Fay. Coralie ! — oh, I don't mean to intrude, 

but , , -, 

Coralie. I'm a little beast and you re all 
very kind, but — if you'll excuse me. (She 
glances up) I'll go to my room. 

Fay. Shall I come, too? 

Coralie. Thanks, I'd better be alone. Good 
night! (She goes into the hotel.) 

Fay. (Watching her sadly) Oh, dear, oh, 
dear, this world is too much for me ! 

Gloade. That's what I tell you. You can't 
run it and you can't stop it. 

Fay. Do you want me to stand by and let 
that child go to ruin? 

Gloade. Not if you can devise any way that 
won't drive her to it. 

Fay. But Murison is a scoundrel. 

Gloade. She knows that, and she finds him 
all the more exciting. 

Fay. Oh, you're heartless. Go back to your 
ecology. 

(She moves up stage and stands glaring off at 
the lake wringing her hands,) 

Gloade. That's a good suggestion. 

Brearley. (Gloatingly) They don't ap- 
preciate your wisdom. 

Gloade. ( With a sad smile) Evidently not. 
Truth is a thing you can neither sell nor give 
away. 

Brearley. Mrs. Crosby doesn't seem to ap- 
prove your sentiments either. 

Gloade. She likes my sentiments, but she 
loathes my facts. 



56 THE CAT-BIRD 

Brearley. Your sentiments are very loving, 
I suppose. 

Gloade. She is a very attractive woman. 

Brearley. I was a fool to bring you 
together again. I didn't know I was stirring up 
an old affair. That scarf -business didn't deceive 
me a moment. But I'm surprised at her, 
criticizing poor little Coralie, then throwing 
herself right at your head. 

Gloade. But women so rarely hit what they 
throw at. 

Brearley. (With a re-aivakening hope) 
You see through her wiles then ? 

Gloade. Perfectly. 

Brearley. (Delighted) You do. And you 
won't fall into them ? 

Gloade. How do I know? — a young fellow 
like me — just starting out into society. 

Brearley. (Disgusted) Ugh! 

Gloade. The worst of Mrs. Crosby is that 
she is such an unconscionable catbird. 

Brearley. A catbird ! You think so? 

Gloade. I know so. 

Brearley. Ah, you're wiser than I thought. 
You won't let her fool you. 

Gloade. Not for a moment. I know the cat- 
bird and I know her. 

Brearley. There's something in etymology 
or do I mean — 

FORSHAY. (Coming from the hotel ex- 
citedly) Where's Coralie? Where's Coralie? 

Gloade. Gone to her room. (Fay comes 
down.) 

FoRSHAY. I'll go telephone her. 

Fay. She wants to be left alone. Haven't 
you annoyed her enough? 

FoRSHAY. But she wants to know the latest 
news. 



THE CAT-BIRD 57 

(Fanita and Ronald co^ne out of the hotel, 
Fanita in great agitation.) 

Ronald. (Solicitously) Can't I get you — 
Oh, Mrs. Crosby, have you any smelling salts 
or anything? Miss Angevine is faint. 

Fanita. Thanks — the air will be enough. 

{She sinks into a chair near L. R.) 

Fay. Ronald, run for some aromatic spirits 
of ammonia. (He goes back to the hotel.) 

Fanita. Please — please — I want to be let 
alone. 

Fay. {Returning to the group) What was 
the news you wanted Coralie to know? 

FORSHAY. The hotel proprietor — ^he's pre- 
tended to be so rich, you know. 

Gloade. The proprietor? 

FoRSHAY. No, Murison — Oh, why didn't 
you let me finish him. 

Fay. Isn't he rich? 

FoRSHAY. No, he just showed me a phoney 
check. 

Gloade. Murison did? 

FoRSHAY. No, the proprietor. Murison got 
so far behind on his hotel bill that finally the 
proprietor dunned him. He gave a check. To- 
night the check has come back marked "No 
funds. Please don't return !". 

Fay. In heaven's name! (Fanita rises and 
listens excitedly) 

FoRSHAY. And the best is yet to come. He 
got a telegram tonight. 

Gloade. Mu 

FoRSHAY. The proprietor! 

Gloade. In heaven's name, young man, quit 
juggling the personal pronouns and use a few 
proper names. 



58 THE CAT-BIRD 

FoRSHAY. I can't use Murison's proper 
name with ladies present. 

Fay. Don't mind me. Tell me the worst 
name. 

FORSHAY. He's a married man — with chil- 
dren! His wife has been hunting him — just 
traced him here by wire. (Fanita swoons) 

Fay. Great heavens ! {She i^ns to Fanita) 
You poor thing ! I'm so sorry. 

Fanita. (Recovering) Don't be so sorry 
for me. Save your sympathy for your niece. 

Fay. But Coralie will learn of it in time. 

Fanita. No, too late. Just as I did. 

Fay. Too late for what? 

Fanita. She has gone to his room. 

Fay. Impossible. 

Fanita. {Laughing hysterically) I heard 
her promise to go there. 

FoRSHAY. It's a lie. 

Fay. Of course it is a lie. She went to her 
own room. 

Fanita. {Tauntingly) Yes, but she can 
step out of her window and walk round by the 
balcony. I heard him tell her he'd be waiting at 
his vdndow right overhead. 

(Gloade quietly vanishes up stage at back, un^ 
observed in the wild outburst of Fay, who 
rushes to Forshay.) 

Fay. Oh, my God, why didn't I let you kill 
him? 

Forshay. I'll go break down the door and 
kill him now ! 

Fanita. {Triumphantly) Too late again! 
The house-detective will be there ahead of you. 
He's on his way now. 

Fay. {Aghast) The house-detective ! 



THE CAT-BIRD 59 

Fanita. Yes, I told the proprietor and he 
sent for the detective at once. 

FORSHAY. (Seizing her frantically) I could 
throttle you ! You're as bad as Murison. 

Fanita. (Insanely) Yes, throttle me for I 
am bad. But we're all bad. We're all rotten! 
All of us. Vm not the only one. I'm not the 
only one. 

Ronald. (Coming on with a glass of 
aromatic ammonia) Here, Miss Angevine, 
drink this ! 

Fanita. I don't want to be sane. I want to 
go mad. (She strikes the glass aside, dashes 
out) 

Ronald. Somebody ought to protect the 
poor thing from herself. But I've got to beat 
up Murison. 

FORSHAY. I'll take care of him. I saw him 
first. (Ronald runs out l. 1. e., calling more 
and more faintly) Miss Angevine, Miss 
Angevine. 

Fay. Coralie, poor Coralie, and now she's 
got to face this awful scandal. She can't even 
marry her betrayer. 

Brearley. (Getting in her way as she 
paces) Oh, I'm so sorry. If I could only do 
anything for you, Mrs. Crosby. 

Fay. You can keep out of my way at least, 
can't you ? 

(A motor car is heard off L. starting up with a 
roar and clattering away at a high speed, 

MULLINS. (Coming out of the hou^e in a 
rage) Where is she? Where is she? 

Brearley. Where's who? Miss Tippet? 

MULLINS. Nah ! Miss Angevine. 

Brearley. (Pohiting l.) She went that 
way. ( MULLINS starts L. ) 



60 THE CAT-BIRD 

FoRSHAY. (Seizing him) You're the house- 
detective, aren't you ? 

MuLLiNS. Quit your kiddin'. 

FORSHAY. (Angrily) I say, you're the 
house-detective? 

MULLINS. Well, why rub it in? 

FORSHAY. Didn't you go to Murison's room? 

MULLINS. Yes, I v^ent. I been there. 

(Starts L.) 

FoRSHAY. (Dragging him hack) What 
happened ? 

MULLINS. Don't you know? 

FORSHAY. No ! 

MULLINS. Well, I went to the door of his 
room, and turned the knob quiet like. The door 
was locked. 

Brearley. Yes. 

MULLINS. Well, I knocked soft-like. 

FORSHAY. Yes. 

MULLINS. Nothin'. I knocked again — a 
little louder-like. 

Brearley. Yes. 

MULLINS. Nothin'! I knocked again still 
more louderer. 

Fay. (Frantically) In heaven's name, stop 
knocking ! 

MULLINS. Well I did. I slip in the pass-key 
and open the door and 

Fay. Well (Mullins shrugs his shoulders 
and starts L.) (Seizing him) What did you 
find? 

Mullins. A nut in a dress-soot studyin' a 
June-bug under the light. 

Fay. Martin Gloade ! 

Mullins. I don't know his name. I says, 
"Who's you? What you doin' here?" He says, 
"I was pursuing this fascinating specimen along 



THE CAT-BIRD 61 

the balcony and it flew in here — Very rare in 
these parts — It's a ballalla — balloolup or some- 
thing" he says. 

Fay. But Murison — and 

MULLINS. Nobody there but the bugologist. 
He said the room was empty when he popped in. 
I'd have arrested him but he insisted on showin' 
me the fine points of the baloolup and I beat it. 
Now I'm lookin' for the practical joker that let 
me in for this. She went that way, you say? 

(Exit L. 1. E.) 

Fay. (Rapturoitsly) Martin saved her. 
Martin saved her! 

Brearley. I'd never have thought it of him. 

FORSHAY. He's a miracle- worker. (Gloade 
comes on through the door.) 

Fay. (Rapturously) Martin, you've res- 
cued poor Coralie from disgrace. Oh, I love you 
for it. How on earth did you get there in time ! 

Gloade. (Angrily) 1 shinned up one of 
the balcony posts. 

Fay. You! How could you? 

Gloade. I've climbed worse places for but- 
terflies and locusts. 

Fay. You angel ! You wonder ! But where 
is she now? 

Gloade. I don't know and I don't want to 
know. 

Fay. She wasn't there? You didn't find 
her? 

Gloade. Not a sign of her — in her own 
room or in Murison's. 

FoRSHAY. But Murison, where's he? 

Gloade. I haven't an idea. My information 
and my interest are both exhausted. 

FoRSHAY. He wasn't there? 

Gloade. No. 



62 THE CAT-BIRD 

Fay. (Despairing again) He's gone and 
Coralie with him ! 

FORSHAY. You heard that motor-car dash 
off a minute ago. I'll bet he carried her off in 
that. 

Fay. Oh heaven have mercy on her! Run, 
run, Martin, and catch them ! 

Gloade. You flatter me. Even if I were the 
fastest car on earth I couldn't run it. I'm a 
porch-climber, not an aviator. 

Fay. I'll get a car and go after them. 

Gloade. (Skeptically) Which one of the 
four roads will you take? 

FORSHAY. All of them. I'll pursue him to — 
to (He dashes out L. 1. E.) 

Gloade. The ends of the world? Better 
take Brearley. 

Fay. Martin, how can you joke at such a 
time? 

Gloade. I'm not joking. If anybody is, it's 
Lord Dunsany's gods. 

Fay. But won't you try to find them? 

Gloade. No! If Coralie is with Murison 
she'll have to find herself. That's what she's 
trying to do. Let her alone. 

Fay. But she's gone with him — he's a swin- 
dler and married — and she didn't know it. 

Gloade. Neither did nature. 

Fay. He just called to her and she forgot 
everything else and went. 

Gloade. It wasn't Murison that called her. 

Brearley. Who was it then? 

Gloade. I don't know. Nobody does. No- 
body knows what gravity is — or the power of 
the moon that makes tidal waves — or what 
makes cyclones — or Junes — or passions. We 
don't know. We can only look on and wonder. 

Fay. And suffer. 



THE CAT-BIRD 63 

Gloade. That's all. Good night. 

Fay. Good night? You're not leaving me? 

Gloade. Yes. I'm going home and put some 
witch hazel on my poor shins and get back to 
my nice insects and plants. They don't make 
so much fuss about a mere elopement. 

Fay. Don't be so heartless. 

Gloade. I'm not heartless. I'm just use- 
less. You'd better go to bed and rest up for 
tomorrow's newspapers. Good night! {Exit 
L. 1. E.) 

Fay. (Starting after him) To think that he 
should abandon me in such an hour. 

Brearley. He has lost all sense of human 
decency there among his insects. 

Fay. But I thought at least he liked me too 
well to desert me. 

Brearley. Liked you ? Don't you believe it. 

Fay. (Startled) You don't mean that he 
doesn't even like me? 

Brearley. No! Forgive my brutality, my 
dear Mrs. Crosby, but he told me he didn't. 

Fay. Great heavens, he couldn't have been 
such a cad. 

Brearley. The worst I ever saw. He said 
you were an unconscionable cat-bird. 

Fay. (Aghast) I can't believe it. 

Brearley. On my word of honor, he told 
me those very words on this very porch. He 
said he saw through you. He knew cat-birds 
and he knew you. 

Fay. Oh, dear, Oh, dear! (Breaks down, 
weeping) 

Brearley. (Groping for her hand) You 
poor soul. Don't think about him any more. 

Fay. But I've thought about him for years 
and years — for always, and now — even he de- 
spises me. Oh, oh, oh! (Sobs) 



64 THE CAT-BIRD 

Brearley. Lean on me, my dear Mrs. 
Crosby. 

Fay. (Distraught) Oh go away! 

Gloade. (Returning L.) I came back to 
apologize for running off. I — I wanted to 
think. I couldn't think here. I thought I could 
think by myself, but I couldn't get by myself. 
I couldn't think of anything but you and the 
suffering that little cat of a Coralie is causing 
you. 

Fay. Cat! Don't come near me. You 
spider — ^you tarantula — I loathe you. 

Gloade. Fay. 

Fay. Just tell me one thing. Do catbirds 
destroy spiders? 

Gloade. What of it? 

Fay. Well, you'd better keep away from 
me, that's all— or I'll— I'll kill you! (She 
dashes into the hotel and slams the door) 

Brearley. (Delighted) Aha! 

Gloade. (Admiringly, sitting on the rail, 
his hack to the audience, and staring at the 
door) Most attractive woman, isn't she ? Mag- 
nificent energy! Splendid dynamics power. 
Superb ! Superb ! 

CURTAIN 



ACT III. 

Scene: — The same as Act L About 10 P, M. 
The pergola is very dark, hut the garden 
outside is radiant with moonlight. The 
fountain leaps brilliantly , The spider webs 
are like silver. The smaller spider is miss- 
inp. 



THE CAT-BIRD 65 

Discovered at Rise: — Coralie alone in the 
garden, standing by the fountain in a pen- 
sive attitude. 

After a few moments of reverie, she starts, 
stares about, looks off L. Moves forward 
in terror, then steals to the columns of the 
pergola near L. A low whirr is heard from 
the rattlesnake box. 

MURISON appears in the garden L. u. E. 
looks about. Calls softly. 

MURISON. Coralie! Coralie! (He comes 
forward to the columns and peers in stealthily, 
speaks again) Coralie ! I know you are there. 
I found the garden gate unlocked, and I saw 
Gloade give you the key. Coralie! don't be 
afraid. Everybody else is over at the hotel. 

(Getting no answer, he lights a match and 
holds it up disclosing Coralie. She starts 
to run across to L. He seizes her by the 
hand. The match goes out. They speak 
in the dark, silhouetted against the moonlit 
garden.) 

Coralie. Let me go ! 

MURISON. Not till you explain why you 
didn't come to my room. 

Coralie. I never intended to. 

MURISON. But you promised to. 

Coralie. I didn't promise. I said perhaps. 

MURISON. Why did you fool me? 

Coralie. I wanted to test you. You tried 
to make a fool of me, but you didn't. 

MURISON. You little wretch. I was leaning 
out of my window waiting for you. I saw your 
dark window light up. Then the lights were 
put out. I waited. You didn't come. I went 



66 THE CAT-BIRD 

along the balcony to your room — looked in. 
You weren't there. 

CORALIE. I went down the servants' stair- 
way. 

MURISON. And I went down the fire-escape. 

CoRALlE. Well, you can go back by the fire- 
escape. 

MURISON. I thought you might come here. 
Who is to meet you ? 

CORALIE. Nobody. I want to be by myself. 
Great heavens, people bother me to death — two 
kinds, those that are trying to capture me and 
those that are trying to save me. I'm never 
alone a minute. 

MURISON. But what comfort can you get 
out of being here? 

CORALIE. I thought I could have solitude — 
and time to think — and to be part of this beau- 
tiful night. 

MURISON. The night is beautiful — and so 
are you. And I love you both. Give me a share 
of your — solitude. 

CORALIE. You've lost any right to me or 
mine. 

MURISON. Why? 

CORALIE. Well, because I've lost all interest 
in you. 

MURISON. Again — why ? 

CORALIE. Tom Forshay whipped you. Be- 
tween the two of you, before long you'll have 
people talking about me. 

MURISON. Forshay may; he's noisy. But I 
never vdll. I'm the soul of discretion. 

CORALIE. But Tom Forshay whipped you. 
He could have killed you if Professor Gloade 
hadn't stuck your knife into his ribs. 

MURISON. So you admire brute force, eh? 

CORALIE. Naturally. 



THE CAT-BIRD 67 

MURISON. All right. I have a bit of it my- 
self. When my foot slipped Forshay took ad- 
vantage of me — ril attend to him later. Now 
ril take advantage of you. (Advances) 

CORALIE. Fm not a bit afraid of you now. 
I've seen you whipped. You drew a knife. 
Well, you come near me and I'll let those rattle- 
snakes loose on you. (She shakes the cage. 
There is a loud whir7\ MURISON falls back) 

MURISON. Well, our chances are equal. I'll 
take the risk. {He moves forward) 

CORALIE. You dare! 

( The lights are suddenly turned on in the corri- 
dor R. faintly illuminating the pergola. 
CORALIE and MURISON are equally startled. 
CORALIE drops behind the snake-box. 
MURISON steals out L. 1. E.) 

(Gloade comes in slowly R. 1. E. in evening 
dress, with hat and coat. He is smoking. 
There is a low whirr from the snake-box.) 

Parker. (Following) I'll find the light- 
switch in a moment, sir. 

Gloade. Not just yet. (He gives Parker 
the hat and coat) 

Parker. A slight trace of camphor still, sir. 

Gloade. Yes, the hotel guests got most of it. 

Parker. The fish-eggs hatched, sir, and you 
didn't get back. And I didn't know what to do. 

Gloade. (Indifferently) Too bad. 

Parker. A whole year's work wasted. No 
chance till another June, sir, is there ? 

Gloade. But there are always other Junes, 
Parker. 

Parker. Yes, sir, I presume so, sir. But 
there may be other people here then. 

Gloade. A very just qualification. 



68 THE CAT-BIRD 

Gloade. (Leaning against a pillar and star- 
ing out into the garden — as he smokes, the 
smoke floating) A strange thing, night, Parker. 

Parker. I'd hardly say that, sir; we have 
one every night. 

Gloade. Another correct observation. But 
I mean the things that go on in the dark are 
strange — baffling. Down inside the seed, in- 
side the larva, inside the eggy in the depths of 
the sea ; in the tunnels of the moles, in the caves, 
in the butterfly's heart, in the mind of the ap- 
ple-blossom, in the soul of the weeds. 

Parker. Do you give weeds a soul, sir? 

Gloade. I don't, but somebody does. They 
fight for life, organize trusts, choke off compe- 
tition, send out colonies. Poor science, it's al- 
ways hunting round in the dark with a little 
search-light. The human heart, itself, is only 
a seed or an egg at first. 

Parker. There's a few of the fish-eggs not 
out yet, sir, if you'd care to look at them. 

Gloade. I'm too tired to look at them. 

Parker. A hard evening in society, sir? 

Gloade. It is very wearing for a total stran- 
ger. It's too much for me — I don't know enough. 
When I take off these clothes tonight, Parker, 
don't put 'em in camphor again. 

Parker. What shall I do with them, sir? 

Gloade. Burn 'em ! 

Parker. But there'll be other conventions 
of learned societies, so to speak, sir. 

Gloade. "Learned societies, so to speak" — 
ha! where are there any? And who wants 
learning? I tried to use a little of mine tonight 
on people and it was as welcome as — as cam- 
phor in evening clothes. I don't belong in the 
human vivarium — especially not among women. 



THE CAT-BIRD 69 

Parker. Well, sir, as to women : Fve often 
told you about my own poor wife. 

Gloade. Yes, you have — often. Any other 
news? 

Parker. Well, sir, there's Emma and 
Claude. At least, there was Claude. 

Gloade. (Moving to the web L.) You don't 
mean that Claude — 

Parker. Yes, sir, Claude went a little too 
far and she — destroyed him, so to speak, sir. 

Gloade. A good job, too. Yes, there she 
sits, the original suffragette, smiling, I suppose, 
and licking her chops. She's purring, too, no 
doubt, if we could hear her. 

Parker. Women are risky pests, sir. 

Gloade. They are just that. Claude should 
have stayed in his own vivarium — and never 
have taken his evening clothes out of camphor. 

Parker. I'll hang up your things, sir. 

(Moves out L. 1. E., is heard giving a little gasp, 
then a sharp call) Who's that? 

Gloade. Who's what? 

Parker. (Appearing l.) Somebody or 
something moved in that room, sir. 

Gloade. I hope none of the snakes are out. 

Parker. Oh, Gawd, sir, don't you suggest 
it! But this was more like a man — slipped by 
me like. 

Gloade. Put on the light in there — or shall 
I? 

Parker. Yes, sir. I will, sir, as soon as I 
find the switch. (Exit L.) 

Gloade. (Going r. and groping for the 
switch, turns on the lights, disclosing CORALIE 
cowering behind the snake-box. He stares at 



70 THE CAT-BIRD 

her. She rises.) The man in there is Murison, 
I suppose. 

CORALIE. {Terrified by the situation she is 
in) Yes — but you mustn't think 

Gloade. But I must think ! Stay where you 
were. Hide. {Calling) Oh, ParKer. Never 
mind the light. Come here. (Parker appear- 
ing and still carrying the hat and coat. CORALIE 
drops hack — behind the snake-box) 

Parker. Yes, sir. 

Gloade. Oh — er 

Parker. I don't much fancy following a 
burglar or a snake through the dark. I'll tele- 
phone the police if you don't mind. 

Gloade. I do mind. You go hang up those 
things and wait by the front door till I call you. 
I'll watch the garden. 

Parker. {Crossing r. in terror) Yes, sir — 
if you n-need me — just c-call. 

Gloade. I will. {He tvatches Parker's 
exit R. 1. E., then turns to Coralie) You may 
come out now. (Coralie stands up. He speaks 
sternly) You're a worse fool than I thought, 
but it's unkind of you to use my garden for 
your — ^your affairs. 

Coralie. Oh, you don't imagine for a mo- 
ment 

Gloade. I have to imagine all the time — in 
my business. Besides, my eyes tell me you are 
here, and you told me Murison v/as here. 

Coralie. But 

Gloade. A fine mess the tv/o of you have 
made of our respectable village. 

Coralie. But 

Gloade. Did you know, by the way, that 
Murison is a fraud financially — and every other 
way? 

Coralie. That makes no difference to me. 



THE CAT-BIRD 71 

Gloade. Are you as brazen as that? Well, 
then, does it make any difference to you that 
Murison is a married man with an abandoned 
wife and an assortment of children? 

CORALIE. Not the least. 

Gloade. You're more abandoned than the 
wife, eh? Well, considering Murison's handi- 
caps, I must say he does pretty well as a lover. 
You're not even shocked by his record. 

CoRALiE. Nothing you can say about Mr. 
Murison will shock me. I know him better than 
you do. 

Gloade. And you still love him ! 

CORALIE. As much as I love one of your 
scorpions. I'd as soon have him kiss me. 

Gloade. Really! Then why are you here 
with him? 

CORALIE. He followed me. 

Gloade. After you left his room? 

CORALIE. I never left his room, because I 
never went there. 

Gloade. You didn't? 

CORALIE. Of course not. You disgust me ! 

Gloade. It's the camphor. So you never 
went to his room at all, and all that post-climb- 
ing for nothing! That explains why I didn't 
find you there. 

CORALIE. You didn't find me there? Did 
you look for me — there?! 

Gloade. Did I? My shins can answer for 
that. 

Coralie. {Haughtily) But v/hy did you 
look for me in such a place? 

Gloade. For the same reason that the house- 
detective did. 

Coralie. {Almost swooning as Gloade slips 
a chair under her) The house-detective? What 
under heaven — what made him go there? 



72 THE CAT-BIRD 

Gloade. You were overheard saying you 
would. 

CORALIE. I never said I would. I said I 
might. 

Gloade. In God's name, why should such a 
nice clean girl say she might do such a thing? 

Coralie. He begged me to. I wanted to 
get rid of him. 

Gloade. It won't be so easy to get rid of 
the story. 

Coralie. Has anybody else heard it? 

Gloade. Fanita was doing her best to tell 
everybody in the United States. 

Coralie. (Collapsing) Oh, I'm lost now. 
I might as well die. I must die. 

Gloade. You must not. 

Coralie. Why not? 

Gloade. In the first place, Fanita has copy- 
righted the line. In the second place, she won't 
kill herself, and you must not. 

Coralie. Must not? 

Gloade. You have no right to. 

Coralie. Who has any right to say what I 
shall do with my life? 

Gloade. The future generations. When a 
young woman takes her own life, she murders 
children unborn, and their children. She kills 
fathers, mothers, grandfathers, grandmothers, 
heroes, presidents, soldiers, doctors — you have 
no more right to kill yourself than the Germans 
had to attack Belgium, and in the long run, 
you'd be killing as many people. 

Coralie. That's a horrible thought ! 

Gloade. If you were a man, it wouldn't mat- 
ter so much. The death of a spider — or a Muri- 
son — doesn't count. Murison has begotten chil- 
dren. They may redeem his career. It would 
probably be a blessing to annihilate him. (Call- 



THE CAT-BIRD 73 

ing off) I hope you are hearing this, Murison. 
(He waits) He can't think up a good answer. 
But we'll not worry about him. 

CORALIE. What's to become of me, then ? 

Gloade. Why, you're as unharmed as if you 
were just bom. You've been through the fire 
and taken excellent care of yourself. You have 
more brains than I thought you had — and I 
thought you had. 

CORALIE. But my poor Aunt — I treated her 
so harshly. She'll never love me again. 

Gloade. She may never love me again, but 
she worships you. You should have seen her 
light into me for daring to criticize you. 

Coralie. (Smiling a little) Did she? 

Gloade. She did ! That's right, smile. For 
God's sake, smile. 

Coralie. (Very gloomy again) No, I shall 
never smile again. 

Gloade. Oh, yes you will. One of those 
drooping columbines out there might as well 
threaten not to lift its head when the sun comes 
up again. 

Coralie. There'll be no more sunrises for 
me. Did Tom Forshay hear the awful story? 

Gloade. Yes, and you could have heard him 
for a mile — especially when he heard that 
Murison had a wife and children. 

Coralie. That's the only encouraging thing 
I've heard about the beast. 

Gloade. That he's married? (Coralie 
nods) Why is that encouraging? 

Coralie. Because that will prevent anybody 
from trying to force me to marry him to make 
me an honest woman. 

Gloade. If you come to that, suppose some- 
body finds us two alone here, who's going to 
marry me and make an honest man of me. 



74 THE CAT-BIRD 

CORALIE. Oh, Auntie is simply crazy about 
you. 

Gloade. She acted as if she were, said she'd 
kill me if I spoke to her. 

CORALIE. Oh, if you'll get me out of this, Til 
make her marry you. 

Gloade. I thought you didn't believe in 
forced marriages ? 

CORALIE. Not with Murisons — but with nice 
men like you. 

Gloade. Oh, Fm a nice man now. 

CORALIE. Well, I have hopes of you. Til 
see. 

Gloade. But we're forgetting Murison. He's 
hearing too much. 

CORALIE. If he comes near me, I'll 

Gloade. Let him take warning by Claude's 
fate. {Fie goes L. and calls off) Murison. 
Murison ! You might as well come out. I knov/ 
you are there. (Getting no answer, he goes out 
L. 1. E.; the light is turned on there. Gloade 
conies back) Like so many other things I know, 
this wasn't true. You're sure he was here? 

CORALIE. Too horribly sure. He came in 
because I opened the garden gate and left it 
unlocked. 

Gloade. Then he must have gone out the 
same way. We shan't miss him, shall we? 

CORALIE. (Darkly) If I could shoot straight, 
I wouldn't miss him. He's destroyed my good 
name. 

Gloade. But a good name can always be 
made to bloom again. 

CORALIE. If Tom Forshay had only been let 
alone. 

Gloade. The most unpopular thing I ever 
did was to save the life of that tomato-worm 
Murison. 



THE CAT-BIRD 75 

CORALIE. Tom is SO wonderfully strong. 

Gloade. You have had evidence of that. In 
fact, our acquaintance began right here with 
rescuing you from Tom. I wonder if I ought 
to have interfered. 

CORALIE. Oh, Fm glad you did. You saved 
us from a tragedy — from one tragedy for an- 
other. I was a beast to poor Tom. 

Gloade. "Poor Tom's a-cold." You could 
never say that. You don't loathe him ? 

CORALIE. Loathe Tom! He's the noblest 
man I ever saw. 

Gloade. (Studying her) Without excep- 
tion? 

CoRALiE. Without exception — excepting 
you, of course. 

Gloade. Me ! Oh, I wasn't fishing. I was 
trying to think. Now about this Forshay feller 
— if he could be induced to 

CORALIE. Forgive me ? 

Gloade. Well, you don't exactly need for- 
giveness. If he could be brought to see the 
truth, he might be quite willing to marry you 
and — make you an honest 

CORALIE. Oh, I wouldn't marry Tom for 
worlds ! 

Gloade. You couldn't love him? 

CORALIE. I couldn't help it. I've tried not 
to — but I couldn't. 

Gloade. Then why not marry him if he asks 
you to ? 

CORALIE. He's too noble and glorious and I 
love him too well to let him sacrifice himself for 
a — a besmirched creature like me. 

Gloade. Nonsense. 

CORALIE. I mean it. You'll see ! 
(Tom Forshay appears in the garden L. u. E. 
very vaguely.) 



76 THE CAT-BIRD 

CORALIE. (Turning and seeing him) Who*s 
that? 

Gloade. It must be Murison trying to find 
his way out. Let him go. In fact, I'll show him 
the way and good riddance of bad rubbish. 
(Stepping out into the garden) Is that you, 
Murison? 

FORSHAY. No, this is Tom Forshay. 

(CORALIE with a gasp flees across and out L. 1. 
E., closing the door after her,) 

Gloade. Oh, how did you get here? 
Forshay. May I come in? 
Gloade. (Looking in and seeing that 
CORALIE has fled) Well — er — ^yes. Come in. 

(Forshay comes in and shows signs of exhaus- 
tion and anxiety. CORALIE opens the door 
and keeps it slightly ajar.) 

Forshay. Coraliehere? No, she couldn't be. 

Gloade. You ask yourself a question and 
answer it. Quite complete. Saves me a lot of 
trouble. 

Forshay. Fm looking everywhere for her. 

Gloade. I thought you had followed the 
motor-car that dashed off with Murison. 

Forshay. Before I started after it, I decided 
to make sure if Murison was in it. 

Gloade. My boy, what a happy thought ! 

Forshay. I asked the starter and he said it 
was an old lady trying to catch the down train, 
so I didn't go after it. 

Gloade. Young man, you're a genius. So 
few people ever stop to find out if the chimera 
they are chasing is the one they are after. 
You're procedure was scientific. 

Forshay. Thank you, sir. But having elim- 



THE CAT-BIRD 77 



mated the only clue I had because it was false 
I had no other. So I've been just stumbling 
along, trying one theory after another and dis- 
carding it. 

Gloade. That's the scientific procedure 
exactly. If you want a job in my vivarium, you 
can have it. 

FoRSHAY. Thank you, Murison is the job 
I'm looking for. 

Gloade. Well, why did you try this place? 

FoRSHAY. Well, I'd tried nearly every other, 
and the gate was unlocked. I had been here, of 
course, this morning. 

Gloade. Yes, I believe I remember. 

FORSHAY. I'll never forget it. I came near 
being worse than Murison. God help me. 

Gloade. With the vital difference that you 
were unmarried. 

FoRSHAY. And I'll always remain so. 

Gloade. You mean you prefer to go about 
trying to overpower pretty young women in 
other people's gardens ? 

FoRSHAY. Sir ! 

Gloade. Frankly, is it your custom to attack 
all the beautiful ladies you meet? 

FoRSHAY. I never attacked anybody — but 
Coralie. I never really cared for anybody but 
her. I've flirted — of course, but the rest of 'em 
leave me cold. They may be pretty, but she's 
the only one whose beauty drives me mad. 

Gloade. That seems to be the only excuse 
for beauty — that it wakens dormant beings to — 
enthusiasm. 

FoRSHAY. That's the trouble. Coralie's 
beauty wakens enthusiasm in other people, too. 

Gloade. That's another trouble. In the 
dark, all cats are gray and in the light beauty is 
visible to everybody. 



78 THE CAT-BIRD 

FORSHAY. Coralie naturally doesn't want to 
live on a desert island with me. I ought to love 
to have everybody else admire her and make 
love to her, but I can't. I go wild at the sight of 
another man making up to her. 

Gloade. That's a good sign, and a healthy 
one. 

FORSHAY. Coralie drives me mad and is 
proud of it. 

Gloade. That's all right so long as she 
doesn't drive you to the electric-chair. 

FORSHAY. I wouldn't mind that if I got 
Murison first. I suppose it's plain blind 
jealousy, but I want to fight every man that 
comes round her. And I want to carry Coralie 
away to a cave or a tree-top and have her all to 
myself. I'm just a plain common damn fool 
you see, sir. 

Gloade. Very common — in fact, almost uni- 
versal. 

FoRSHAY. That's why I lost my head in 
here. Coralie loves to tease and flirt and she got 
me so excited that I went crazy, I suppose. For- 
tunately, you saved her from me and me from 
myself. But then she had to go and go crazy 
over that blackguard of a Murison, and now 
who's to save her from him? Isn't this the 
damnedest world you ever saw. 

Gloade. Yes: also the delightf ullest ; in 
fact, the only one I remember. 

FORSHAY. I'd better start out again on the 
hunt. 

Gloade. And you're sure that Coralie is the 
only one that — er — maddens you ? 

FoRSHAY. She's the one woman on earth 
for me — and I'm going to hunt the earth over to 
find her. Murison may have her but he can't 
keep her from me. She's mine and I'm hers and 



THE CAT-BIRD 79 

— oh, hell, what's the use of talking. I'll be on 
my way. 

Gloade. Just a minute. I think I heard the 
doorbell. It might be news from Coralie. 

Parker. {Appearing r.) People for you, 
sir. I didn't know you had a caller. I told them 
you were probably in bed, sir — but — you're not, 
are you ? 

Gloade. That depends on the people. Who 
are they ? 

Parker. Mr. Brearley, sir. 

Gloade. I'm in bed ! 

Parker. And Mrs. Crosby. 

Gloade. I'm up and dressed. 

Parker. Will you come into the drawing- 
room, sir? 

Gloade. All right. (Glances at the door L. 
1. E.) No, ask them out here. (Parker goes R. 
1. E.) The camphor is less asphyxiating in the 
open air. 

FoRSHAY. I wonder if they have any infor- 
mation. 

Gloade. They wouldn't bring it here if they 
had. (Fay and Brearley come in r. 1. e. and 
stand embarrassed.) {To Fay with mock 
timidity) Have you come to kill me in my own 
web? 

Fay. {Piteously) Don't make fun of me, 
Martin. 

Brearley. Have some respect for grief, 
can't you ? 

Gloade. Certainly, old Ends-of-the-World- 
for-Thee. 

Brearley. He is incorrigible. 

Fay. I've come for your help again, Martin. 
I've exhausted my own resources. I throw my- 
self on your mercy. 

Brearley. You throw yourself on a rock. 



80 THE CAT-BIRD 

Gloade. Try this chair. {Pushes one to 
Fay cautiously.) 

Fay. Don't mock me. Fm simply distracted 
about poor Coralie. Where is the darling now? 
How can we save her? 

Gloade. Don't try to interf 

Fay. Martin, if you mention Nature to me 
again, Til scream ! 

Gloade. It's the best thing you could do in 
your present tension. If you'll promise to let 
out a good scream, I'll tell you where she is. 

Fay. You know? 

Gloade. Yes. She's in there — perfectly 
safe — alone — no Murison. 

Fay. (In a whisper of stupefaction) In 
there? Safe? Ah! 

Gloade. Is that all the noise I get? 

FORSHAY. {With a roar) Coralie! In 
there ? 

Gloade. That's more like it. Let's hear from 
you, Brearley. {Brearley grunts with disgust. 
Gloade shakes his head) Very poor. 

Fay. I don't believe it. 

FoRSHAY. I'll go for her. 

(Coralie, who has held the door slightly ajar, 
closes it and the lock snaps.) 

Gloade. {Checking him) Then she won't 
be there. You heard the spring-lock snap. 

Fay. {Pleadingly) Bring her to me. 

Gloade. She won't come. 

Fay. Why? 

Gloade. Because Mr. Forshay is here. 

FoRSHAY. Then I'll go away. {Moves R.) 

Gloade. {Checking him) Oh, no, that 
would spoil everything. 

Fay. Martin Gloade, you're trying to drive 
me insane. Coralie isn't there at all. 



THE CAT-BIRD 81 

Gloade. (Not very loudly) No? Oh, Miss 
Tippet — can you hear me? 

CORALIE. (OffL.) No. 

Fay. (Running to the door) It's her voice. 
Coralie — my darling, won't you come to see me ? 

(She listens) 

FORSHAY. What does she say? 

Fay. She's murmuring that she has dis- 
graced me and she'll never look me in the face 
again. 

FoRSHAY. If I only had Murison's v^indpipe 
in my hands. 

Gloade. You ought to be much obliged to 
him. 

FoRSHAY. Obliged to Murison? 

Gloade. Come over here. (Goes r.) If you 
had heard what Coralie told me, you would 
know that you are the only man she ever could 
love, and what awakened her to the fact was the 
way you trounced Murison. Ergo, he is your 
best friend. Q. E. D. 

FORSHAY. But if she loves me, why won't 
she let me tell her how I love her ? 

Gloade. Because she's of the type that has 
to be carried by storm. Thousands of years of 
ancestry 

Fay. There you go again, Martin. 

Gloade. Well, anyway, the one way you can 
win her is by carrying her off in spite of her- 
self. The poor little frightened soul is so re- 
morseful because she did what her f oremothers 
have done — I've got to say it, Fay — for thou- 
sands — well, you know — ^that she thinks she's 
unworthy of you. 

FoRSHAY. That angel unworthy of me ? 

Gloade. Well, as long as you can both keep 
on thinking yourselves unworthy of each other, 



82 THE CAT-BIRD 

the marriage will be perfect. It's when the 
truth comes out that the trouble begins. 

Fay. Martin, you're surely above satire at 
such a time. 

Gloade. You're always right, Fay. But the 
thing is Mr. Forshay and Miss Tippet belong to 
each other, and the only way to bring about the 
match is by force. 

Forshay. I don't like to be rough with the 
poor little angel. {He goes to the door) Mayn't 
I try persuasion? 

Gloade. Try anything. But I advise an axe. 

(Forshay goes to the door and talks through it 
in loiv pleading tones,) 

Fay. (Leading Gloade doivn r.) Martin, 
do you think you are right? 

Gloade. Divinely. 

Brearley. How modest ! 

Gloade. She loves him ; he loves her. They 
both told me so. 

Fay. But is Tom an ideal husband ? 

Gloade. Oh, my Lord, Fay, you're not going 
to look for an ideal husband for that very real 
woman ? 

Fay. But he's poor and excitable. 

Gloade. He has a great mind. His mental 
processes are simply superb. 

Brearley. Be serious ! 

Gloade. I've offered him a job in my work. 
That's how serious I am. He won't take it, of 
course, but he'll be rich and powerful and he and 
Coralie will bully each other blissfully to a ripe 
old age and many quarrelsome healthy grand- 
children. 

Brearley. But you don't intend to sur- 
render that exquisite girl to that — that — why 
where I came from they lynch men for 



THE CAT-BIRD 83 

Gloade. So you said. You'd better go back 
to where you came from. 

Brearley. I don't intend to aid in such a 
wrong. 

Gloade. You'll always aid the wrong — 
you'll always be comfortably wrong with the 
great majority. 

FORSHAY. (Turning from the door) She 
won't consent to marry me, and she puts it all 
on the ground of her love for me. 

Gloade. Well, then, for the love of — Coralie, 
go get her. 

FoRSHAY. I can't break the door down. 

Gloade. You can't ! 

FORSHAY. Of course I can, but it's your door. 

Gloade. I contribute it as my wedding- 
present — one mahogany door. 

FoRSHAY. Much obliged. 

Gloade. You know the minister across the 
way ? He's a nice fellow, though he abhors me. 
Wait a moment. Poor old Parker is likely to 
misunderstand — and resist. (Calls off R.) 
Parker, Parker! 

Parker. Yes, sir. 

Gloade. You run over to Mr. Blenken- 
shaw's. 

Parker. The minister's? He'll be in bed, 
sir. 

Gloade. Get him out. Tell him that Mr. 
Forshay is coming over to marry Miss Tippet 
right away. 

Parker. For heaven's sake ! 

Gloade. I hope so. Tell him they've got to 
catch a train and he's got to marry them. And, 
Parker, you stay as witness. Pay the fees and 
everything. (Gives Iivm money) 

Parker. Yes, sir. 

Forshay. Much obliged. (Calling through 



84 THE CAT-BIRD 

the door) Stand back, Coralie, for Fm coming 
for you. 

Gloade. One moment! I may have a key, 
after all. (Looks over hunch of keys) Yes, 
here it is. (Hands him the hunch with a Yale 
key uppermost hut takes it from him again) 

No, she*d like it ever so much better if you v^ent 
through the door. A cave-man vdth a latch-key 
lacks that certain something. You'll have use 
enough for the latch-key after you're married. 
I never liked that door anyway. (He motions 
FoRSHAY to go ahead) (He leads the others 
down R.) Now, Fay whatever you do, don't 
interfere. 
Now, Fay whatever you do, don't interfere. 

Fay. That av^ul word ! 

Gloade. No matter what Coralie says or 
does, ignore her. She'll fight like the devil, but 
she's on the road to heaven. 

Brearley. I'll not stay to witness this. 

Gloade. I wish you wouldn't. 

Brearley. I'll do all I can to prevent it. 

Gloade. Don't get in the way of the bride- 
groom. You know him. 

FORSHAY. Here goes. 

(Dashes against the door, hounds hack goes 
through it tvith a crash. There are sounds 
of protest, struggle, faint cries for help.) 

Brearley. This is av^ul. 

Fay. Oh, I can't stand it. 

Gloade. You told me yourself that if I'd 
carried you off I could have had you. 

Fay. I never did ! 

Gloade. You implied as much. Now, see 
nothing, hear nothing except what I say. 



THE CAT-BIRD 85 

(He talks against time a7id tempest during the 
ensuing passage of Coralie across the 
stage. Coralie struggling against Tom, 
thrttsting her hands out to Fay, to Gloade, 
to Brearley.) 

Coralie. Let me go ! I will not marry him ! 
You beast! Fll scratch your eyes out! You 
hurt me! Fm not worthy of you! Oh, Aunt 
Fay, won't you help me. Professor Gloade, save 
me. Mr. Brearley, oh, will no-one save me? Oh, 
dear, oh dear, Tom, you're so strong. I'll go 
quietly if you'll quit dragging me. I can't be 
married if you don't let me walk. 

FORSHAY. {At the same time) You're com- 
ing with me, if I have to drag you. You're com- 
ing to the minister. I love you, you little beast. 
The minister is waiting. We've just time to 
catch the train. Your Aunt will send the 
baggage. I adore you, damn you ! You can't 
escape. 

Gloade. {Talking all the ivhile and stand- 
ing down R. between Fay and Brearley 
holding them each by an arm as they struggle) 
It seems to be one of Nature's strongest 
wishes that the female shall select the male most 
congenial to her by studying all of those to 
whom she is congenial. What looks like flirta- 
tion is only the instinctive wisdom of youth. It 
is dangerous and many tragedies result, espe- 
cially when the laws of Nature encounter the 
laws of Man and the various tabus and conven- 
tions that savages and so-called civilized com- 
munities set up. We must distinguish between 
what is really moral and what is only custom. 
The most vicious customs become religions 
when they are long enough established. 
Furthermore, you can never tell, when you see 



86 THE CAT-BIRD 

an apparently weak woman being apparently 
overpowered by an apparently strong man, 
which one of the two is really the victor — 
usually both are victorious, and then also 
Nature is. 

(By this time, the couple have fought their way 
out R. 1. E. Fay is exhausted. Brearley in 
a towering rage.) 

Fay. This is frightful. 

Brearley. Monstrous ! You have compelled 
me — me ! to connive at an abduction. 

Gloade. An abduction, yes! But who 
abducted whom? I maintain that Coralie has 
carried off Tom as much as Tom Coralie. 

Fay. Oh, I hope they'll be happy. Did you 
see how splendidly Tom played his part. I 
didn't know he was so good an actor. 

Gloade. I thought Coralie acted her part 
pretty well, too. 

Brearley. Acted! You mean she wasn't 
sincere ? 

Gloade. Of course she was sincere. She 
wanted Tom and now she's got him. 

Brearley. Well, now that you've got your 
dastardly experiment under way, perhaps Mrs. 
Crosby will let me escort her to her lonely hotel. 

Gloade. Certainly. 

Fay. Well, good night, Martin. I'm sure 
I'm ever so much obliged for what you've done 
for Coralie. 

Gloade. If you want my help on a similar 
occasion 

Fay. Oh, me ; I'm not the Coralie kind. I'm 
tamed — utterly. I'm sorry I was so cross with 
you. I don't wonder you don't like me, but I do 
like you. 

Gloade. Who said I didn't like you ? 



THE CAT-BIRD 87 

Fay. Why, you called me a — a catbird. 

Gloade. Who told you so? 

Fay. Well, I don^t like to say. 

Brearley. If you must know, I did. I 
couldn^t bear to see you so polite to her face and 
so contemptuous behind her back. 

Gloade. Who said I was contemptuous ? 

Fay. Well, you must admit, Martin, that 
catbird isn't the most complimentary term in 
the world. 

Gloade. How do you know it isn't? What 
do you know about catbirds ? 

Fay. Not much, but 

Gloade. (Excitedly, looking over the cases 
among the few books) Do you know why I 
happened to call you that name? 

Fay. My catty ways suggested it, I suppose. 

Gloade. Your cat-birdy ways. Well, I was 
reading what Chapman said this evening while 
I was putting on these — aromatic evening 
clothes and I always read when I dress and I had 
the "Birds of North America" on my table and 
I came across this quotation from Olive Thorne 
Miller (Finding page) and it fitted you so 
perfectly that — Read it! — (Offers her the 
hook.) 

Fay. (Shyly) The type is so fine and — I 
have to wear glasses now when I read. 

Gloade. Fine! So do I. You might have 
liked it better if I had called you a Domatella 
carolinensis. 

Fay. What's that? 

Gloade. That's slang for catbird. Well, 
here's what the hand book says about you. 
(Reads) 'The Cat-bird is one of the most in- 
telligent birds of North America" 

Fay. Martin ! 

Gloade. Be silent and attend: (Reads) 



88 THE CAT-BIRD 

**She is inclined to be very friendly. In the gar- 
den she is as useful as she is enchanting. Her 
value in preserving our fruits can hardly be 
overestimated." 

Fay. I do like to put up preserves. 

Gloade. Hush, womsLXil (Reads) "The 
catbird mother is one of the most anxious and 
devoted. If her nest is discovered, she exhibits 
so much distress that one sympathetic to bird 
griefs has no heart to pursue investigation. The 
catbird is generous and helpful to others of her 
kind in trouble of any sort, feeding and caring 
for deserted or orphaned young ones of any 
species, and always ready to aid distracted 
parents in the defense of their homes and little 
ones. The catbird is of a lively and restless 
temperament, very playful — full of droll pranks 
and quaint performances. I know of no bird 
better worth cherishing and cultivating than 
the catbird." 

Fay. (Weeping) Oh, Martin, Martin, and 
you called me a catbird. 

Gloade. Thank heaven, you can cry. You've 
suffered so much today without tears I was de- 
spairing of you. 

Fay. I can stand sorrow, but I can't endure 
joy. 

Gloade. Well, Fll promise you plenty of 
sorrow if you'll make your nest with me. 

Brearley. Well, I — Fll say good night. 

Fay. Thank you so much. 

Brearley. For what? 

Gloade. For saying good night. It's the 
pattest thing you ever said. 

Fay. Don't you mind him. 

Brearley. Don't you. 

Gloade. She won't. 



THE CAT-BIRD 89 

Fay. Why, Martin, I expect to obey you in 
everything. 

Brearley. Good night. 

Gloade. You can't go and leave us two chil- 
dren unchaperoned. 

Brearley. All right, I'll stay and look the 
other way. 

Gloade. Brearley, we're friends again. 
Now, Fay, you may embrace your future fate. 

Fay. Have you still got that awful beetle in 
your pocket? 

Gloade. I believe I have. I forgot all about 
it. {He takes the envelope from his pocket) It 
is empty. He got away. 

Fay. Thank heaven ! 

Gloade. I hope he has found the mate he 
was looking for — as I have. And the same good 
luck to all the lonely lovers in this beautiful 
world. 

(They embrace) 

CURTAIN 






^ 



(2^5 



